As a Lyrium Lullaby
by TyrnaHamroth
Summary: He depended on lyrium from the first moment he tasted it, its song more enticing to him than anything or anyone. But then he met her. Templars all over Thedas find comfort in the Lyrium Song but he found it in her. To him, she was as sweet as a Lyrium Lullaby. Narrates the evolution of the love story between Cullen and Trevelyan since she stayed behind at Haven. Eventually rated M
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first long fanfiction. I will be posting a new chapter every Sunday, so you'll know when to expect them. As I wrote in the summary, this story will eventually become rated M.**

 **None of this would be possible without my lovely beta Melicious Intent, who checks that I'm not disgracing the english language and that everything looks just fine for you people out there.**

 **oOo**

Chapter 1: Through blizzard and pain

 _I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die._

 _You arrogance blinds you. Good to know. If I'm dying, it's not today!_

The words were still coming out of her mouth when she kicked the lever of the trebuchet and ran as fast as she could to get to cover before the avalanche buried Haven with her in it. In the back of her mind, she remembered how her body instinctively cringed while escaping when Corypheus' dragon roared behind her, her legs moving frantically, even though her mind was screaming that it was useless. The beast was about to devour her, or worse, take her alive so it could eat her slowly and painfully to the satisfaction of its master. Even then she kept running, the part of her that refused to die spurring her forward and into safety. Andraste knew how she managed to find the hole in the ground, and how she had the clarity of mind to jump into it, making sure to turn her body in midair to avoid falling over her front and possibly breaking an arm while trying to soften her landing.

And here she was.

She could feel the chill through her leathers, despite being as strong as any other rogue armor, as well as the wooden boards digging painfully into her side. Her neck and hair were damp and she could hardly feel her scalp, freezing as it was... How long had she being lying in here? Had she succeeded? Were the people of Haven able to escape in time? Was the village lost?

She took a deep breath, thinking about all this in a matter of seconds. Making assumptions about the victory or defeat would accomplish nothing. She had to concentrate in the moment, not dwell on anyone else right now, not the refugees, not the mages that she had practically conscripted to their cause, not the ones she had recruited along the way, or the ones that were with her from the beginning... Not the fathers, mothers, and children that ran for their very lives for the last hope Chancellor Roderick gave them through his agony.

Not even in how Cullen's voice had cracked when she refused to look at him after he had asked her how she was planning to escape after she buried Haven in an avalanche. She felt his hesitation, and knew that if she looked at him, he may argue with her, delegate his responsibility to someone else (maybe that kid, Cole, since he seemed able to enter Roderick's mind and guide the people to safety) in order to stay and fight like the warrior he was. But she couldn't, she wouldn't let him; it had to be Cullen. Only his determination and ability to command the meager army could guide all the villagers out alive. Besides, the farther they stayed from her, the better. She was the one carrying the mark, the only thing Corypheus was after, the only reason he attacked Haven in the first place... And now that he knew that he could not take the anchor back, he would never stop tracking her down to kill her.

She moved tentatively to check for broken bones while she tried to make some sense of all Corypheus' ramblings about her mark, the gods, and her inopportune timing to, apparently, interrupt important rituals. Then her left hand glowed ominously and caused an acute pain that crawled over her arm to her shoulder, making her cry in pain, only to fade away as fast as it began. Steeling her resolve, she stood up and tested her legs with a few steps. Her right thigh hurt a little, and when she looked down, it was no surprise to find her trousers ripped, coagulated blood coming from a considerable gash in the outer side of her upper leg. Well, at least she had to thank the snow for keeping the bleeding at bay. She looked up and saw the hole where she had fallen, now covered in a dense layer of snow, a broken wooden beam still clinging to the rest of it while it dangled precariously. That must be how she injured herself; she must have hit that thing in mid-fall. She moved a few steps away - the last thing she needed was to be hit in the head by that low-hanging beam - and glared around the darkness. Both her daggers where there, buried partially in the snow, and she felt lucky and a little more secure knowing she had something to protect herself. She was in a chamber of sorts, a place long forgotten by the looks of it, with only one exit: a big arc leading to a corridor that kept going as far as she could see. Without any other option, she sheathed the daggers on her back with a little difficulty, considering the scabbards had been crushed by her weight and were not in the best shape, and began walking through the tunnel.

After a while, hours maybe, she was fairly certain she was lost. While she had thought she'd been relatively unharmed when she woke up down here, the pace she had imposed on herself was taking its toll on her. Her ribs ached and she was forced to stagger though the road, slightly hunched as she held her middle with a hand, keeping pressure on it so it would lessen the pain. She was trying her best not to think about everyone out there, wondering what had happened on their end. Would they think she was dead and move on? Had they already done it? Or were they waiting for her, risking freezing to death or starving? She knew they hadn't had time to take enough provisions with them to stay in one place for too long, and she had already caused enough death without adding more casualties on her behalf.

Oh, Maker, she did not deserve to be alive... How many had she left behind, buried in the snow, forgotten as if they were not important for the wild animals and the weather to dispose of their corpses? Some Herald she turned out to be, leading her people to death like this.

While lost in her thoughts, she almost didn't notice the wooden planks now beneath her feet, or the ones holding up the walls at her sides, breaking up the normal scenery so far. Maybe she was heading toward an exit after all...

The passage made an abrupt turn, and as the adjacent chamber came into view, a green light flashed and four despair demons appeared out of nowhere. There was not enough time to think; she unsheathed her daggers and stepped forward to face them. Suddenly the mark sparked to life, the power forcing her to raise her left hand high in the air, and she was astounded as a rift opened and pulled the creatures to its center.

Maybe her intervention was not necessary beyond that; maybe she could just relax with her left hand in the air and watch as the demons disappeared into the veil, but she was not going to risk it. The moment the pain in her hand receded and she was able to move it again, she picked up the dagger from the ground where it had fallen when the mark had activated, and with its twin, she moved as quickly as she could, stabbing and slicing the creatures' flesh until even without the help of the rift, they would have died irrevocably. Once they were dead, as if by its own will, the rift closed itself and the light in her hand extinguished.

She took a deep breath, removed her glove, and examined her palm carefully. Nothing seemed off, and she was frustrated with her own ignorance, wishing Solas was around to offer an explanation for what just happened, or how it happened, for that matter... And yet, she felt she could do it again if she wanted to, creating a rift at will, as if she was the key between the veil and their world...

 _Now you are going insane_ , she said to herself, shaking her head as she pulled her glove back on and kept waking. The room had only one exit still intact, so she ran for it, ignoring the pain in her body, eager to get away from this place.

She heard the wind before she could see it or feel it. Wind? What was she thinking? That was a blizzard out there, of all places in Thedas! And lucky for her, it just so happened to also be her only way out. She stepped out to the snow and the force of the wind nearly knocked her flat right where she stood. Almost immediately she began to shiver intensely, feeling the cold sting her entire body as if thousands of tiny daggers were piercing her skin. She did not want to even imagine how that would have felt if she were only wearing her herald attire.

 _And all of them escaped with just the clothes on their back_. She shook her head again; she could not lose more time thinking about the others, no matter how much she cared or how close she grew to some of them. She needed to keep herself focused, moving forward no matter what.

With her hand in front of her eyes to protect her from the biting wind, she saw something glowing not far from her. She made haste to it and found a broken wagon burning. _How in the Maker's name is this fire not extinguished already?_ Looking closer, she saw oil smearing from a broken lamp between the wheels. This must have been from the Haven refugees. Maybe they used the wagon to haul provisions and had to left it behind after it broke when the storm picked up strength, realizing it would only delay them further to repair it. At least she was on the right track - that is, if she didn't think about the fact that being near her could be more dangerous than not, for the survivors... Perhaps she could convince them to part ways once she recovered.

She huffed loudly, a breathy plume misting before her face. What was she thinking? So long as she had this damned mark on her hand, there was no way any of her advisers, or Solas for that matter, would allow her to leave... And deep down, if she was sincere, she did not want to. That _thing,_ that "Corypheus", had threatened not only their little village, but the whole world with his presence, and if she and the mark could do anything to stop him, she would do whatever it took to accomplish it.

She kept walking, faltering from time to time due to increasing exhaustion, and stopped for a few seconds when she needed to make sure she was still on the right track, trying to linger as little as possible, especially since a pack of wolves seemed to have taken notice of her presence and was definitely following her. Eventually, though, the eternal white of the landscape gave way to a few trees that formed little groves where one could take refuge, and she turned to them, looking for some clue of her people. Andraste must have smiled on her then, because she found a burnt out bonfire near the trees. She removed her glove and touched the ashes only to find them cold as the Maker-forsaken snow. Well, it should not have surprised her; even if she had woken up only a few minutes after the avalanche, the party had begun their journey long before, but at least the structure, made to warm a pot full of water over the flames, was not broken or covered in snow... As far as she could tell, she was heading in the same direction they had taken.

The moment she began the ascension of the mountain, it all became more difficult. Once again she had lost track of time, having no idea how long she had been out there. Her feet were numb, and the cold of the snow that now covered her to her knees had long since reached through her boots, forcing her to walk more laboriously and drag her feet to push forward though the thick layers of ice and snow. At least up here the wind was calmer and allowed her to see beyond her own hand. That was how she found another abandoned bonfire and almost collapsed on the ground as she reached for it. She did not have to touch it; there were warm embers this time, recent enough to give her a little hope. She only needed to push her body a little more.

Trying to calm her ragged breath, shivering body and chattering teeth, she kept going, but each step was tantamount to torture. Even when she had lost most of the sensitivity of her lower body, she somehow could feel the sting of the cold penetrating her flesh more and more, shutting down her muscles and making it impossible to move forward. She stumbled once, and was almost incapable of rising up, but with a deep huff she managed, only to fall yet again, this time on her knees just a few steps ahead.

In the short seconds before she collapsed, she though she saw a warm glimmer in the distance lighting a few trees. She extended a frozen hand to it, as if with that simple gesture, she would reach that place of promise and find peace again.

-There! It's her!

As she fell into a state of unconsciousness, she smiled weakly, not surprised in the slightest that her mind had associated that feeling of refuge and salvation with his voice...

And in her mind, she tried to call out to him...

 **oOo**

 **After some reviews about this, I feel the need to clarify something from the start. I'm Argentinian and, as such, was taught, as all hispanic, with different grammatical rules when it comes to dialogue. So when english uses quotations marks, we use what you call hyphens.**

 **As a general rule keep this in mind.**

 **When I write:**

 _ **-What? What gives you,- he pointed angrily at the three women,- the right to belay my orders to keep me in the dark about the Herald's condition?**_

 **It's the equivalent to:**

 _ **"What? What gives you", he pointed angrily at the three women, "the right to belay my orders to keep me in the dark about the Herald's condition?"**_

 **See? It's not hard at all. If the dialogue line ends without further clarification, meaning, if there is no descriptive text between the dialogue, it will end in a dot or simply ends the sentence and paragraph only to begin a new one, like here:**

 _ **-There! It's her!**_

 **It's your equivalent to**

 **"There! It's her!"**

 **I try to avoid using hyphens in the middle of a descriptive text but if that is confusing for you, you might be glad to know that you can always identify a dialogue line because it is separate from the rest of the text. A dialogue line begins as an independent sentence and always with a hyphens.**

 **Hope this helps. There is a review in this story where I explained this too. I think different cultures should not separate us, especially not if you enjoy the story. When I first read an english text (and books) the quotation marks were confusing but if you are open minded you'll get the hang of it in no time**

 **Hope you are still with us. And welcome to my story**

 **TyrnaHamroth**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Body Warmth

He ran like he hadn't run in his entire life, falling to his knees in the snow the moment he reached her. Immediately, he took his cloak off and covered her with it, letting the furs cradle her head and burying her face in the soft coat. He took her in his arms and pushed her against him, wishing his armor was not as chilled as it was due to the long search he had been engrossed in since the camp was set up, and he had decided to find her at all costs, even if it meant going back to what was left of Haven by himself.

The moment he spotted her, falling to her knees and then collapsing face-down in the snow, he felt his soul return to his body, only to then be haunted by the idea that he had just watched her die right in front of his eyes. As soon as he stood up with her, Cassandra was by his side.

-Is she breathing? is she alive?- She was about to bend over her to attempt to check if she was, in fact, breathing, when Cullen pulled the Herald closer to his own face, almost touching his lips with hers. A few seconds later, the Seeker saw the dread on Cullen's face disappear.

-She is, but barely.- A crease on his forehead told her he did not feel relaxed, yet.

-Lets take her to camp.

There was no need for her words. The Commander had already started walking.

Cullen was moving as fast as he could allow himself, suppressing that part of him that wanted to sprint to camp in order to get her to safety as soon as possible. By doing so, though, he might hurt her. He had caught a glimpse of her wounded leg, and when he brought her closer protectively, he sensed her muscles twitching as he put his hand over her ribs. A few steps later, he felt an almost imperceptible shiver run down her body, and he raised his arms, holding her higher until her head was nested against his neck and surrounded still by the fur of his cloak. He could feel her soft breath on his skin and the sensation made his own body shiver, sending a fire through his neck and down his chest, urging him to keep hope, to not give up on her.

Cassandra was talking to him, but he hardly heard her, his goal the only thing in his mind. After a while he heard her mumbling something before sprinting towards the camp. In the distance, he could hear her orders while he was getting closer, and he silently thanked the Maker for her.

Once he stepped foot into camp, Mother Giselle, Leliana, Josephine, Iron Bull, Dorian and Solas surrounded him and led him urgently to a massive pavilion they had installed when they arrived to act as a rudimentary war room. Iron Bull entered first and was already moving a makeshift table full of maps and scrolls, not caring if they fell to the floor of if he stepped on them in order to make room for the Herald. Solas was centering a cot in the middle of the tent while Leliana surrounded it with several braziers that Dorian was lighting with his magic. Mother Giselle gathered some potions, hot water, and bandages on a small table that someone, Cullen could not remember who, had put next to the bed. As soon as he positioned the bed where he wanted it, Solas covered it with a thick fur, motioning Cullen to lay her down. He did as he was asked and was about to kneel on the floor next to her when the two mages and Mother Giselle urged everyone outside, telling them they would let them know more as soon as they stabilized her.

Cullen found himself standing outside the tent, his empty red cloak in his hands. _When did I take it back?_ The Commander felt completely lost and confused. The Herald was _in_ there, struggling to stay alive, but, even though he trusted the mages and cleric to do anything they could to help her and that he knew he would only get in the way, Cullen could not help but feel compelled to go back in and stay with her, holding her hand and watching over her until he could see her open her eyes again.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he did not sense Leliana's approach until she spoke to him.

-Let's go. You did everything you could; she is in the Maker's hands now.

Cullen was as religious as the next Fereldan, but the phrase "in the Maker's hands", usually spoken when someone was dead or dying, made him feel like his blood was boiling. Fearful that he would say something he would regret later, he shrugged her hand off his shoulder and headed towards some nearby recruits.

-Make sure you tell me the instant someone comes out of that tent,- he ordered, pointing to the pavilion where he had left the Herald. Without waiting for a reply, he entered his own tent and began pacing like the lion his armor resembled, trapped in a cage.

Two hours later there was still no news, and Cullen was near desperation. He did not want to show it more than he already had, but he could not stand it any longer, and with a growl he stepped outside, looking directly to the pavilion and crossing the camp. In the middle of the road, several people had gathered around a large fire while dinner was being served, bowls passing from hand to hand. As he passed it, that was exactly when he spotted Mother Giselle talking to Josephine and Leliana, and his ire surfaced again.

In three long strides, he crossed the camp directly toward the women standing with the recruit who was supposed to let him know if anyone left the side of the Herald. The poor boy felt like something was punching a hole in his skull, and turned just in time to see his Commander storming toward him with so much rage in his eyes that he actually thought he was going to die right there and then. Leliana followed the boy's gaze and the moment her eyes focused on Cullen, she mumbled something to the recruit and the boy ran as fast as he could, not worrying about looking like a coward in the eyes of the whole Inquisition, nor even bothering to take his dinner with him.

Cullen was about to deviate his path to follow the young man when Leliana stepped in front of him.

-Leave the poor boy alone, Cullen. It was I who told him not to inform you.

Cullen could not believe was he was hearing.

 _-What?_ What gives _you_ ,- he pointed angrily at the three women,- the right to belay my orders to keep me in the dark about the Herald's condition?

-You needed time to rest. You headed all the search groups, stayed out in the cold for hours, and you were exhausted, too. Besides, there is no change yet... Her temperature is rising again, but slowly, even with the braziers and Dorian's fire magic, and her wounds have been tended to but nothing more.

-Do you honestly believe I was resting? _Napping,_ perhaps?- He realized he was losing his composure, so he forced himself to breathe deeply and look at Leliana again. -How is she? What did Solas say?- he asked between his teeth.

-There is not much more than what Sister Nightingale already told you, Commander,- Mother Giselle intervened. -We cleansed her wounds and gave her warmth, but now we must wait. She is completely exhausted, and has several burns on her feet due to exposure to the cold, but with Master Solas' magic, she should be able to recover completely. That is, if Pavus can get her temperature to stabilize.

Cullen nodded and stepped aside as though lost in thought. The three women turned their backs to him and resumed their quiet chat, unknowing that that was exactly what Cullen was hoping they would do. The Tevinter was still fighting her hypothermia, but maybe he could give Cullen something to do to help. With deliberate strides, he covered the distance between the fire and the pavilion and entered without a second thought.

What he saw once inside almost made him lose his mind completely. The Herald was still in the bed, her armor on the floor next to it, probably discarded in the rush to get her out of the wet clothes and into the warmth of the furs. But next to it were mage robes, also thrown haphazardly onto the floor. And there in bed with her, _holding_ _her_ beneath the covers, was Dorian, humming peacefully while running his hands over her hair, her head in the crook of his neck, his whole body against her side and, Cullen suspected, partially over her.

A part of his mind tried to rationalize that body heat was more efficient than covers or fire to warm a person with hypothermia, but the idea of this naked man hugging her while she was unconscious made his hand search for his sword almost automatically. How _dare_ he? How could he possibly take advantage of her situation? Try to have her while she couldn't deny him? Did he think he could treat her like a Tevinter slave, whose only purpose was to satisfy his devious desires? How could he have such a cold heart? She had defended him when everyone, Cullen included, had objected to her decision to allow Dorian to join them. He had treated the mage like any other person, not doubting his intensions or judging him for his origin. Cullen could even remember when she had smiled at the mage in front of all her counselors and said, _"There's no one I'd rather be stranded in time with, future or present."_

From that time on, Cullen had kept an eye on the two of them, witnessing how their relationship had bloomed into a full friendship, but never anything more. She even said so when Josephine had joked about it in the War Room. He remembered he had felt relieved to hear that, telling himself his concern was merely because fraternization with one of her companions could put her at risk during her missions, and with her, all of Thedas, if they lost her and the last possibility to close the rifts.

But Cullen had also seen how Dorian had monopolized her time and attention more than he ought to have, insisting they deserved a break if they had just come back together from a long mission, or that she should tell him everything over a nice Tevinter wine if he had been left behind. Almost every time he asked, she had gone to him, and by the end of a month, Cullen could practically count the occasions by the amount of target dummies he'd destroyed in a fit of sudden inspiration, in which he would called his troops out and show them how to effectively bring down the enemy.

The reality was that he was somewhat jealous of the mage's confidence around people. It was as if he could just charm _anyone_ apparently and never falter. Not like Cullen, who would babble and stammer every time the Herald approached him, smiling and asking about his life, seemingly interested in getting to know him better. But even then, even when she had given Dorian a lot of leeway despite not being in a relationship as she clarified (emphatically) the man had _no_ right to take advantage of her while she was vulnerable. _Maker!_ Cullen was certain he was overstepping his boundaries, even if she had lied and they _were_ lovers! She was unable to refuse if she had wanted to, and that, in his mind, was a violation of her trust. In that moment, he could kill the man without giving him the opportunity to explain himself, but she was there, and Cullen could not forget he was a very powerful, unpredictable mage... If he attacked now, Dorian could harm her trying to escape, and that was the last thing he wanted.

-Step away from her,- he said in a guttural voice, filled with disdain as he unsheathed his sword.

Not startled in the slightest, the Tevinter opened his grey eyes, stroking her hair while smiled at him. _Actually smiled!_ Cullen was ready to run him through, and he was sure he was going to enjoy it. He took one step forward, his sword pointed at the mage's throat, urging him to leave her peacefully and face his punishment.

Dorian chuckled briefly and mumbled something against her ear. He created some distance between the two of them, kissed her hair, and covered her tenderly before stepping away from the bed, unashamed of his stark nakedness.

-I confess, I'm guilty of saving her life, Commander,- he said, raising his arms in the air, -but unless you're willing to take her place, preferably in a much more comfortable bed, I highly doubt any of those outrageous thoughts you're mentally picturing will cross my mind.- He chuckled once more. -Her temperature is back to normal, by the way, so I'm free to warm another body.- He raised his eyebrows, a sly grin on his face.

Cullen was utterly speechless, his mind going from rage to confusion at the display in front of him. Taking advantage of his shock, Dorian took a step forward, lowering his hands.

-No? Ah, such a shame. Another time, perhaps.- He found his clothes and quickly put them back on before waking right past him, Cullen still unable to say a single word. Dorian pat his shoulder and whispered, -I'll let the others know she's out of danger, and that she has someone else to watch over her, for now.

And with that, Dorian left Cullen alone with the unconscious Herald of Andraste.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Lion Mane

It took Cullen a few minutes to actually move from the entrance. He wanted to, Maker how he wanted to! But he did not know what to do once he was near her, or if perhaps she would wish to see him if she happened to wake up in the meantime. Yet he wanted to, he _needed_ to come closer, to see for himself that she was just resting, getting better. He needed to know her breathing was normal, her temperature warm, her lips a healthy pink instead of that purplish color they had when he was bringing her to the camp.

He took a deep breath and moved to retrieve a chair to place next to her bed. As soon as he saw her up close, a considerable weight was lifted from his shoulders. She looked better, almost as if she was just sleeping, and not unconscious due to the exertion of her escape from Haven. The only part of her body visible was her head. Not even her neck was uncovered, Dorian making sure she remained warm even without him by her side...

Cullen shook his head rapidly a few times, trying to shake the image of the mage naked against her before his blood began to boil again. The mage cared for her, that much was evident, but was there anything else in his intentions? Any man in love would have done the same as he did, even without the braziers or the magic to help him, even if he was risking his own life by doing so. Sure the mage had said he was not interested, even went far enough to invite Cullen to take her place but it wouldn't be the first time Dorian had said something to make him uncomfortable; it had become almost a sport for him, one that the Herald seemed to enjoy too from time to time. _Are templar's also expect to give up... physical temptations?_ Maker's Breath, that time his heart almost jumped out of his chest! And yet he could perfectly imagine Dorian going through a situation like that and turning it to his advantage, a grin on his lips and a sly answer at a ready. Yes, there was no doubt Dorian cared for her. He was even humming when Cullen had entered, a gentle tune to soothe her although she was oblivious to her surroundings, one of his hands caressing her hair, the other nowhere visible (Cullen did not dare to think _where_ that hand had been but considering the position the mage was, it was probably seizing her waist while he was partially covering her with his own body) and he had kissed her hair before leaving her side, the same hair that now was beginning to moisten due to her own body heat she was emitting.

The covers were too close to her cheeks, now flushed red. Before he realized what he was doing, he took the furs and pulled them down just a little bit, never dreaming of exposing her more than appropriate, but enough to leave the column of her neck free of the extreme heat. He could _feel_ her, the warmth coming from her, the soft breaths, even the tiny drops of sweat that glistened on her skin when his finger lightly brushed against it. She was so beautiful. He was having trouble breathing just looking at her, so peaceful, finally safe, _alive_.

He touched a strand of hair that he tried to rationalize to himself was out of place, traveling down the side of her face, and he tucked it back with the others on her head, his fingers lingering longer, burying deeper than was strictly necessary.

-Mmmmm.

Cullen froze in place in an instant, his hand still touching her hair. The sound, half hum, half moan, had been so low and so fleeting that he was not sure it had been real. He waited a few more seconds, and when nothing happened, his hand retreated as he felt it tingling, and he tried to will his heart to a calmer beat. Leliana was right; he was exhausted. His mind was playing games with him, making him hear things that were not real, _could not_ be real. Or maybe she had felt it and though it was Dorian who was still with her? Maybe she wanted him with her. His heart felt a little heavier with that thought and he frowned considerably. Of course that was the case. Pavus was noble, powerful enough to easily become a magister and therefore could provide her with everything she may ever need and more. He was a man Cullen could hardly compete with...

Wait, what? Compete? Maker, he needed to stop thinking things like that! She was a noble, daughter of Bann Trevelyan, one of the most powerful men in the Free Marches. Even that would have been enough to intimidate Cullen, but it did not end there, she was also the Herald of Andraste, the Maker-sent savior of them all, the woman destine to bear His Bride's mark that would help her free Thedas from the menace of Corypheus, and he was nothing but the son of a farmer, an ex-templar who had turned against his own superior, a weak man who had not had the strength to fight against the demons (his own and Uldred's) when Kinloch Tower was taken, failing his duty to protect the mages and to help his fellow templars. Yes, he was now Commander of the Inquisition forces, but that was not enough. Certainly not to woo such a remarkable woman.

He ran his fingers over his hair, for once completely in disarray, to end up rubbing the back of his neck, uneasy with nothing to do. He stood up and began to pace. These kinds of thoughts were leading nowhere, exactly as it had the numerous other times he had indulged in them. Even if he could possibly be the kind of man she deserved, she was the youngest of her family, and had been in the Conclave precisely for that reason, and by family tradition, she was promised to the Chantry. Tradition compelled her that she one day join the cleric, or the Templars... _Maker, no, anything but that!_ He could not even think of her being poisoned by the lyrium that made his own life a living hell far too often, little by little corrupting her, as it did to any templar, claiming body and soul, usually for life, most of them unable to break their dependence on the addictive substance without losing their minds. His steps sounded more heavy now, even in the dirt, and he was looking everywhere and nowhere at the same time, again resembling the lion that had become his avatar.

Her clothes, still in the floor, called his attention from the corner of his eyes. Accepting any task, meager as it was, to occupy his mind, he gathered them up and began folding them neatly. He pulled another chair and put it on the opposite side of her bed, leaving her clothes on the seat.

And again, there was nothing to do, so his eyes came back to her. She was not so flustered now and seemed completely relaxed, more so than he ever had seen her. Hard as it was to admit, he had been there more than he should, and people were bound to talk if he stayed much longer, no matter how he would like to. Doubting a few minutes, he looked from her to the clothes on the chair a couple of times before he decided to take off his cloak and leave it folded below them, telling himself it was only because she didn't have much to wear besides her leather armor, and even though he had no doubt she would put them on again once she was awake, the weather here was too harsh to go without a coat. He could manage. He would find something else to wear.

Mother Giselle was still talking to Leliana and Josephine when she saw Cullen step out of the tent. He looked less tortured, but still conflicted. Dorian had informed them about the Herald's progress before, as well as the presence of the Commander by her side, and she had waited patiently until he came out in order to go keep an eye on the woman herself, despite the fact she was not expecting the Herald to awaken until the following morning.

She went to him and without a word, waiting for his debrief.

-Dorian has warmed her, but she is still unconscious.

Mother Giselle nodded, solemnly.

-She has been through a great ordeal. Her body needs to take its time to recover completely.

Cullen nodded absently and was about to move forward when he seemed to remember something, looking at her with a hint of embarrassment.

-Don't worry my child, I will stay with her.

Cullen excused himself and went to find the other two advisors, now engrossed in what promised to become a heated discussion shortly. Mother Giselle almost felt sorry for the Commander; his presence would not calm those waters.

Before she headed for the Herald she went to find Dorian, considering Solas seemed to have vanished from sight. She found him in a semi-open tent they were using as an infirmary, gathering some medical supplies, probably to move them to the Herald's tent. The place had only a few wounded, thank the Maker, and only one was a lost cause. She watched a young man with a massive hat covering most of his face that was guarding Chancellor Roderick's agonizing body. She thought he looked familiar, but even so she could not place his face from anywhere. Not that it was important; the other man was the one that had her worried. The Chancellor was suffering, and even when he had said his last prayers and committed his soul to the Maker for when he would come to take him, it still pained her to see a good man suffer. True, Roderick was not the most affable person, often voicing his opinion with too much attitude and arrogance, but that made him a difficult person, not an evil one, and he did not deserve to have his suffering lengthened more than it already had. Silently she pronounced yet another prayer for him and went to Dorian's side.

-The Commander has returned to his duties. I imagine you want to come to look after her, too.- Her tone was not cold, but it was not warm and inviting either. She recognized the ability he had, and she was even thankful he was present to help the Herald. Not that Solas was unable to, but the Tevinter specialized in fire magic while the elf chose spirit, so it would not come with the same naturalness as it did to Dorian... but she still did not like the man. She was convinced he was a bad influence to the Herald, although she had not voiced her concern yet to anyone else, nor even herself until this very moment. Besides, there was the fact that he was a rogue mage, an outlier in these lands, and a Tevinter on top of that. None of those things inspired confidence in her, not to mention his attitude, so careless, so...

-How could I refuse if you ask so warmly my dear woman?.

...so like THAT!

Mother Giselle held a derisive snort (it was not a lady-like reaction after all) and began to walk to the pavilion where the Herald rested, not even caring if the mage was following her. She knew for a fact that he was.

As she approached the door of the pavillion, Dorian sped up a little bit to gain on her and opened the tent flap with a slight bow, gesturing that she may step inside first and following her closely as soon as she did.

-Cullen?- the voice of the Herald surprised them both, as well as the fact that she was holding her weight on one elbow while looking at the entrance. Dorian held a hand to his heart and looked at her like he had been wounded.

-Oh my dear, you just broke my heart! I was so certain it was me whom you were seeing in your, now thanks to yours truly, heated dreams.

The Herald's cheeks blushed a little before she smiled beautifully at the mage.

-Jealousy doesn't suit you, my friend. And I was _not_ dreaming of him. It's just that I thought he had been here and came back, that's all.- She had lowered her eyes as she spoke. Dorian donned her expression before he widened his grin.

-After he undressed you and warmed your body with his own?- He said, trying to make her feel even more embarrassed than she looked by her little slip, one that he knew she would insist on calling an honest mistake.

-Maker's Breath!- Mother Giselle mumbled while taking the medical supplies and heading to the table.

Dorian did not pay attention to her, as he was having the best time watching as his friend's cheeks flush a vicious red while she looked at him appalled. Alas, he was a soft man, and could not trick her for too long.

-Relax my beauty, the Revered Mother here along with our somniari friend took account of your clothes. I simply laid with you naked as the Maker had brought us and warmed you to health.- His voice had dropped an octave as he described the last part, waiting for her reaction, and his grin could not get any bigger as she shot him no better a look than she already had, the idea of him naked with her certainly more comforting than Cullen, but transcendental enough to make her fidget. And yet, although thankful that it had not been the Commander that had seen her naked, she felt slightly disappointed that it was not his warmth that had brought her back, nor his body the one that had covered her own, possibly holding her through shivers and cringes while trying to bring some life back into her frozen body.

Her pride came to save her in the perfect moment, just as Dorian seemed to be about to add some other sly comment to his already scandalous reveal.

-I'm shocked Dorian, taking advantage of an unconscious woman?... Tsk, shame on you, my friend.

-What can I say? I'm Tevinter, we are prone to surrender to our darkest desires. -He replied as he stepped closer to her and kissed her hand.

This was good; she could get strength from this. Since Dorian had joined the Inquisition, they had engaged in this flirtatious dance, neither of them trying to get anywhere from there, but feeling comfortable scandalizing any passersby that heard them, and nurturing what was already a blossoming friendship with no small amount of trust, something she would had never have thought she would find in one of his countrymen. Sadly, though, the ever vigilant eye of the Chantry was there with them and it make itself present, interrupting their game.

-By the love of Andraste, your grace, that is not an appropriate behavior for someone in your position- She did not know if the woman meant her position as a lady, as a Herald, or as a wounded patient, and to be fair she did not care, but she respected the Revered Mother and therefore had the decency of look contrite.

-I beg you to forgive me, Mother Giselle. And thank you -she looked from the woman to Dorian- both of you, as well as Solas. I thought I was going to die out there.

-We merely cured your wounds. It was the Commander who found you outside on the mountain- she looked at Dorian questioningly and he smiled at her.

-Well, I see that you are alright and in good hands -her friend said while Mother Giselle was raising the covers to check on the bandages- so I'll take my leave -he eyed the clothes in the chair and smiled- I'm certain you will remain warm enough once you get out of there. Mother Giselle, -he said his goodbyes and walked out of the tent.

The herald looked at the chair next to her, curious as to what had brought on that comment from Dorian, and felt her stomach flip as she spotted a mane of fur below her clothes.

He had been there with her... She would have recognized Cullen's coat anywhere.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: The Dawn will Come

-Well, isn't it nice to see how despair brings all of us together?- Dorian had said on his way out, absolutely tired of hearing her counselors brawl, which had escalated in the last minutes to the point that they yelled at each other even when they agreed on something.

The Herald had dressed and donned Cullen's coat over her own clothes, taking the time to bury her face in the mane and breathe deeply to enjoy that scent that was only his, before she had intended to join them to see if she could bring some senses into this, but Mother Giselle had stopped her, claiming her presence ( _especially_ hers) would not be productive. She said their argument was about what the survivors had witnessed. Apparently, her miraculous escape had become another reason to strengthen the hope of the people, believing she had died and come back, all thanks to the mercy of the Maker and the blessing of Andraste.

 _That is hard to accept, no? What "we" have been called to endure? What "we", perhaps, must come to believe?_ The Revered Mother had asked. Yes, it was hard, almost impossible; more so if she were to think that some of that faith in her had a little truth to it. Andraste had chosen her? Why? She was not special, in fact the Conclave had been filled with candidates far more capable than her. Maker! The Divine had been slain there, and yet _she_ survived! And even when she believed in the Maker and her bride, in their guidance and compassion, in their power, she could not believe it had been the prophet herself that had somehow given her the power to stop all this, or the strength to overcome Haven's fall.

 _I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old God of the Empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption, dead whispers._

 _Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the Throne of the Gods, and it was empty._

She had voiced her fears from when she heard Corypheus say those words to the old woman. What if the Black City was in fact empty? What would that mean for them? And if it was true, where did her mark and the power of Corypheus really come from? Mother Giselle of course had been adamant; her faith never faulted. She was confident that not only she was the Herald of Andraste, but that they should feed the beliefs people had regarding her, even if that meant they would think she came back from the dead just by divine grace.

To say she did not like it was an understatement. She was not comfortable deceiving the people, using their faith to her advantage. She had always thought faith was a gift some people had, a balm to calm their anguish, and had despised those that used that to bend their will to match their goals. And, more or less, that was what Mother Giselle was asking her to do, to encourage them to believe something she did not know was actually true. She had told the Mother she was not sure _what_ to believe anymore, and therefore she was unable to incentivize them to do so.

She had waited for a new wave of scripture quotes, or a whole rant about what the Maker had lain upon her road, but instead, Mother Giselle had sung. She recognized the song almost immediately: _The Dawn will Come_ , a Chantry song meant to be sung in moments of need and doubt. It could not fit the situation more perfectly. After the first verse she could hear Leliana's soft voice joining in, followed closely by a small group of soldiers, and eventually Cullen's own deeper voice. _When did they stop fighting?_ She was confused and humbled by the way they were looking at her, Leliana with a shattering faith reflecting in her eyes, Cullen with a heartwarming smile. For a second she thought she may be dreaming.

But what had truly astonished her was the answer it had among everyone else in the camp. One by one the refugees had joined the song, and eventually approached her and bent a knee in the snow in front of her. She had intended to help the first and second to get up before more had gathered, but soon she was overwhelmed. They were laying their lives literally at her feet, telling her she was not to blame for Haven's fall, for the ones they lost, or the path she had led them on. They were looking at her as a savior, as the one meant to guide them to victory, to peace. They were letting her know that they trusted her blindly, and that scared her the most.

Soon the song had ended and Solas had come to her rescue requesting a word, only to keep walking past her to a low hill beyond the camp's edge.

And there she was, following this elven mage that had become her friend and advisor, her elder in age and in wisdom, hoping he could help her understand something, or at least aid her with the weight she was feeling over her heart. They arrived at the top of the hill, and stopped in front of a torch holder that Solas lit with Veilfire. She could see the whole camp from it at their backs, and she marveled at the fact that she was alive to see it. Even through the tragedy, these people managed to join together, carry provisions and equipment, and part ways with their home to make sure they and others survived, and were now working together to come through all of this, soldiers and villagers, authorities and civilians, ex-templars and mages, all working shoulder-to-shoulder in order to keep fighting. She was not naive enough to think there were not complaints; she knew that, especially between ex-templars and mages, there was a long way to go to accomplish true peace, but for now and thanks to the harsh moments they were living through together, she was lucky enough to be there to see it come to pass.

She turned to look at Solas and was about to thank him for saving her, but he beat her to the punch.

-A wise woman, worth heeding. Her kind understand the moments that unify a cause. Or fracture it.

He was right, of course. Mother Giselle had moved the exact piece in the board to stir people's faith. It may come off as manipulation, but she could not deny that in this precise moment, they needed it. The woman's voice sounded in her head, _Faith is made stronger by facing doubt. Untested it is nothing._ She was going to answer, but once again, the mage was quicker.

-The orb Corypheus carried, the power he used against you. It is elven. Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. I do not yet know how Corypheus survived, ...nor am I certain how people will react when they learn of the orb's origin.

She felt as if a huge piece of a puzzle had just fit into place, but she forced herself to analyze the mage's words more carefully. The fact that Corypheus' magic was elven said nothing to her, except perhaps that the theory about Andraste's gift to her was, as she suspected, just a belief fueled by the need of the people to know their gods were protecting them. And yet something about this fact disturbed her. Elven meant ancient, more than if it would have been Tevinter's, or even Andraste's. The elves were in Thedas long before it was even named such, and they were the first people that wielded magic in the world, no matter what the Chantry said. That much she believed in. Besides, Solas was someone she had learned to trust and she would not question the power he, or his People, had. She needed to know, though, how he had come to know this. He had never mentioned this when he examined her, nor was he close enough to the Elder One to be able to feel the nature of his power, but she had to make sure her friend knew she took him at his word.

-All right, what is it, and how do you know about it?

Solas smiled. He always enjoyed the fact that even when she did not question the source of his wisdom, she did not accept it blindly without at least inquiring about how he had come to his conclusions.

-They were foci, used to channel ancient magic. I have seen such things in the Fade, old memories of older magic. Corypheus may think it Tevinter. His empire's magic was built on the bones of my People. Knowing or not, he risks our alliance. I cannot allow it.

Was that fear in his eyes? It should be. For him to call the elves _his people_ was unusual; he typically did not include himself among them, although he did not claim to be anything but, and even so, he usually did not share most of the customs and practices of either city elves or the Dalish. Not that it was that unbelievable. He was a loner, he had told her he had grown up in a village to the north, but it was obvious it was not a Dalish or human one. She even thought he despised most of the nomad elves. Solas certainly talked about them with enough derision, claiming they were wrong about so many things, that they twisted elven culture until nothing was left of it that could be recognized from before.

In a way, she was fascinated with his ability to see beyond this world, to witness history in the making, to hear and feel all that has come to pass in the places he visited, and because of it they had shared many hours talking about his adventures and the real elven heritage. Solas was surprised with her curiosity of the elves, herself being human, even more when she asked him if he could teach her his language. He had accepted of course; he hardly could deny anyone's desire to learn, but the situation had delayed the beginning of their lessons more and more into the future. Though now they could be forgotten until much better times arrived, if they ever did. All in all, it seemed that same curiosity was going to be useful now, considering she now carried a power from a foci of ancient elven magic in her hand.

She could see Solas fidgeting, his toes scraping the snow. She couldn't understand how he did not have blue feet by now. _How do elves could stand the cold anyway?_ Should she offer some boots to him? _Come on, focus, he has other things in mind, can't you see?_ Yes, she could see he was worried, and with reason. She could just imagine the Chantry's reaction if the orb's nature became public knowledge, not that the common people would react any better. It would be a massacre, hundreds of elves would surely perish at the hands of fanatics who would think their extinction would help the cause, or by groups that consider themselves righteous to punish elves, as if they were to blame for the presence of an old creature that somehow had managed to snatch an artifact so powerful that it could literally rip the skies wide open.

Well, she would never tell; elves deserved the same treatment as anyone. She had believed that her whole life and, in fact, her parents had made sure to instill those values to her from youth. In the Trevelyan household, there were no inferiors, and they treated everyone with the respect they truly deserved. Actually, it was not rare to find elves on her parents' estate doing jobs that other houses would have considered above them. Her father had even employed an elven horsemaster and a captain, and her mother's chambermaid and dearest friend and confidant was elvish.

-This whole mess is confusing. I can see how elves might be an easy target.

Solas looked relieved that she had seen his point.

-History would agree. But there are steps we can take to prevent such a distraction.

She frowned, now knowing what he had in mind. The elf looked at her before glancing back to the camp.

-These people will need a new home, just as much as the Inquisition a new stronghold, one that can provide a better advantage point if we are to confront the Elder One again. For now, our forces were not weakened beyond the casualties the attack left. These people kept their hope and their strength, and that is in our favor. By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it. Changed you. -He turned and looked toward the horizon.- Scout to the north. Be their guide. There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. There is a place where the Inquisition can build, ...grow... It is waiting to be awakened from a long sleep, and you are the one who can bring it back to life.

He looked at her and smiled warmly. She realized then that Solas truly trusted her, and this was his way of showing it, giving her the means to accomplish more. Despite his reassuring words and expression, a sudden fear attacked her.

-Will you come? Will you stay with us?

Solas looked at her as one would a fearful child who just woke up from a nightmare.

-I will see this through with you. I will fight at your side. I trust you Herald, that much you have deserved.

From any other, those words would have sounded smug, as if he was looking down on her, but from him, it gave her as sense of peace. She sighed, feeling utterly relieved.

-Thank you for that, and for saving me. Dorian told me you and Mother Giselle saw that my wounds were attended properly.

-You were certainly in bad shape, but the damage was more due to the hypothermia than any major wound. You spoke while unconscious, about falling through a hole. You were actually lucky you did not break a rib during the fall, although your side will hurt for a time and it will take a few days for your leg to fully heal, even though the cold helped diminished the swelling.

She remembered something.

-How do you do it? -He seemed confused so she pointed to his feet. -You should be freezing; would you not prefer to borrow a pair of boots? I'm sure we could find some.

-I'm accustomed to be barefooted. The weather does not affect me as it would you. -he smiled wryly, -And even if I desired it, I can see that we do not have clothes to spare. Even our leaders appear to be borrowing theirs.- He pointed to the coat she was wearing, effectively making her blush.

-He... Cullen, that is, left it in my tent. I was going to return it to him, I still am!

-I imagine he did. He seemed quite appalled when he found you, although relieved that you were back with us. He had been uneasy since we left Haven, and organized search parties as soon as we were settled.

She was growing uncomfortable. Solas' tone of voice was different, as if insinuating something, and it was making her feel anxious.

-He is a good man, a good Commander. Cullen cares about his people,- was all she could think of saying.

Solas' smile grew.

-That he does.

She looked at him, attempting to detect any signs of sarcasm, but finding none. There was something else there nonetheless, something she could not name. Amusement perhaps?

Solas did not let her think about it more.

-You should go back and let them know where we are heading, that is, if you are willing to follow the path I suggested.

-Of course!

-Excellent. We should leave this place in the morning. It would not be a long way if we were traveling as we always do, but with the whole Inquisition, it may take us around a week to arrive there. The fortress is located in a stretch of the Frostback Mountains near the Dales, so we will have to ascend the mountain to reach it. We will be able to find good hunt on the road, so we should not concern ourselves much with eating a hot meal at the end of the day. Refuge, however, I'm afraid will be more difficult, so we will be forced to hold our advance early. A couple of hours before nightfall, perhaps, so it would be best if we leave at dawn.

She nodded her agreement and went back to the camp, leaving the solitary elf to his presumably many thoughts.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Tarasyl'an Te'las

-Well, this is a disgrace- the Free Marches accent reverberated in the empty chamber.

Apparently, in Vivienne's opinion, the fortress was beyond consideration. If it was because she thought it impossible to bring back the former glory Solas said it used to have, or the fact that she could hardly quell the rejection she felt by being in the middle of all this rubble and grime, was something she did not know, and did not care to know. It was funny to watch her walk through the place, tiptoeing as if standing here would affect her reputation somehow. Solas was near her, looking at the mage from Ostwick with disdain, clearly thinking she was the one unworthy to step foot in the fortress, and not the other way around as Vivienne seemed to think. He looked to the Herald walking at his side and said:

-The elves of old called this place Tarasyl'an Te'las, "the place where the sky is kept", or more specifically, "the place where the sky was held back".

-Well, by the looks of it the first definition does it more justice- Varric's voice came from behind. They both turned to watch the dwarf climbing a little mountain of rubble illuminated by a ray of sun that was seeping through a hole in the ceiling while looking up- I mean, it literally "keeps" the sky in it, don't you think?- he said, opening his arms as if he was trying to embrace the whole light patch in them- Holding it back? not so much.

Solas muttered something under his breath. It was elven, and even knowing the language, it would have been difficult to understand what he said due to the hushed tone, but for the look on his face, the elf was not precisely praising the dwarf's virtues.

-It needs a little work, but it's the perfect place, big enough for the whole Inquisition and more; as you said, here we can grow, become stronger- she smiled to the elf- besides, the reconstruction will bring everyone closer, working for a home does that to people.

The place was indeed something special. This hall alone was impressive, deteriorated as it was. It was massive, probably planned to gather a huge number of people, working as a great hall where social reunions could take place, or maybe a common dinner hall for a considerable army. She thought it could work as both, and would function as a gathering center if need be (she supposed the Inquisition might eventually become noticeable enough to receive mandataries from different places, and this could be the perfect place for them to mingle and socialize, and even conspire if she learned anything about politics) and at the same time it could hold large tables where people could eat and relax after a hard day. Maker knows it had the space to hold all of Haven's refugees while they dined.

As she walked, she made a mental list of all the work it would require, as well as the items that were salvageable. There were some torch sconces attached to the wall, half a dozen braziers prepared to light the place aside from keeping it warm, and a huge candelabra that had fallen along with a wooden beam, its twins still clinging to the remaining roof ; they were more or less bent and rusty (the latter most of all) but she suspected that a capable blacksmith such as Harrit could make them as good as new in no time. There was also some wooden furniture, but those that were still in one piece would probably yield as soon as weight was added, so those were out of the picture, but they could nevertheless work as a fine fuel wood. The floor was mostly in good condition, but it needed some weeding though; some plants had managed to grow in the cracks of the stones, and had reached varying heights, from small bushes to a full-grown vine thriving against one corner.

Walking to the end of the hall, she looked at the broken windows. There were remnants of some kind of intricate vitraux that some years ago had probably bathed the room in different shades and tones due to the little colored glasses that formed an intricate pattern, now undistinguishable. The floor was cover with something that apparently had been different kinds of rugs scattered all over the place, following a path to the end of the chamber or marking the center of the room. Now there was only little patches of weave in different states of integrity, from just a few threads laced together to a pretty decent section of rug, and everything in between. Close to the main door, there was a chimney that had luckily survived and was in immaculate condition, except for the fact that some birds had made a nest on top, and a smattering of straw, pieces of wood, feathers, and other less pleasant material was filling the hearth where the fire should be, but it was just a cleaning away from being completely functional again, something that they would take advantage of soon enough.

In general, there was a lot to do, and it was going to take time to do it all, of course, especially the repairs of the roof, they being the most difficult considering they would have to install scaffolds high enough to reach and patch it up, but beyond that and a few windows, this particular chamber only needed to be cleared of all the rubble. It had potential, lot of it, and that warmed her heart.

A deafening sound made most of them jump in their places, followed by a high-pitch scream and an all-too-eager Sera, ready to loose an arrow at whatever it was that had made that noise. She turned and saw Iron Bull next to a huge wooden beam that, if the amount of dust coming up from the floor where it now lay was any indication, had just landed next to him. One of the lateral doors was now available; that is if one managed to open it while it was off its hinges. Bull noticed that Vivienne was now staring at him, her eyes half lidded, a murderous expression indicating to the giant that she did not appreciate being startled in that way, while Sera was slowly lowering her bow, an arrow still nocked.

\- Sorry -the qunari shrugged before going back to his explorations.

-Arse-biscuit- Sera whispered, but it was clearly heard due to the echo in the room.

Bull put the door he had just unblocked back on its hinges and opened it, disappearing through the doorway.

They all searched through the big hall further (apart from Cole, who was nowhere to be seen) while a few noises kept coming from different areas with her entire inner circle exploring.

She did not have too much time to investigate, though, as her horned friend came back from the same door and yelled to her.

-Hey boss! You have to see this!- waving at her to follow him.

She did as he asked and found herself in an enclosed garden of some kind, surrounded by a roofed stone corridor with beautiful arcs that made it an amazing atmosphere for relaxation, and even prayer. It was, of course, completely blocked in parts by dead plants, but a stone gazebo sat in the front, almost completely covered with a vine that hardly had any life left in it (but maybe they could trim it and nurture it back to health; it certainly looked like the only plant with some hope of living there, being the only one with a few leaves hanging from its branches), a water well, luckily covered with a wooden lid that had stood the test of time and would be a blessing if it was placed there _before_ the well could be filled with anything but water, and even a huge tree that had dried when it was partially ripped from the ground by what she could only assume was a terrible storm.

Bull had come closer to its trunk and was appraising it carefully, something evidently on his mind. He kicked it a little bit to check its sturdiness and, apparently happy, turned to look at her.

-Think we can use it to make a new War Room Table?

-Yes, it may be a good idea. We can even use the trunk as a base. First we need to finish digging it up so we can... Bull! What are you doing?!

The qunari had stepped away a few meters from the tree as she spoke and was now charging against it with all his strength. The trunk moved an inch at first, but then it stayed firmly in its place, and Bull pushed with his shoulders while his feet were slipping in the dirt as if he was walking in place. She was about to tell him to stop before he hurt himself when the tree gave way to his brute force and fell on its side, revealing the rest of beautiful set of large roots that were now seeing the light for the first time in likely more than she could imagine.

-Done!- Said Bull with a slight panting breath- I'll take it to Blackwall, he knows how to work on wood. Hey Krem, Stiches, Grim, help me out here!- The Chargers came through the door and, as soon as they saw their boss, they almost ran back in again.

-You have got to be kidding me!- Krem said as he watched Bull trying to pick up the huge trunk by himself. - Oh for fuck's sake, wait for us or you will brake something.

Bull made a derisive noise as if he found Krem's idea ridiculous, but waited for the group and, between the four of them, they took the tree thought the side door and to the courtyard. As they reached the main hall, she could hear Blackwall's whistle of surprise and a laugh at something Bull had said.

She knelt on the ground next to where the tree had been and took a handful of soil in her hands. It was a little dry but it was useful.

-Fertile ground, even here. This hold has everything.

-Herald!- Cullen's voice traveled from the other side of the garden. She turned to see him fighting his way through weeds and brambles to reached her. She thought about him opening a path through snow in a similar way, although with a more distressful look seconds before she had collapsed in front of him.

-We made a list of provisions and I talked to quartermaster Morris about the supplies we need to make the main parts of the keep functional, and I must say, we are lucky it seems to be in better shape than it looks. According to Ser Morris, the place was built to last, but that will make it a fight to built it up, although nothing we can't handle. We'll need to send scouts to find logging stands and maybe some quarries to begin the restoration at once.

-Yes, perfect, send them with some soldiers to protect them and a few Brontos each, assuming the beasts had time to rest. You can ask Bull if he wants to tag along; he seemed eager to help and get some exercise, in the mean time.

-Yes, Herald.

She looked at him more carefully. Cullen was exhausted; it was obvious. He tried to hide it, but the dark circles beneath his eyes gave him away. He was about to take his leave when she stopped him, resting one of her hands in his upper arm, and he froze in place.

-Cullen, when was the last time you had a good rest?

Cullen began to stutter almost immediately, something she came to recognize he did when he was uncomfortable with a question, or when she was behaving a little too personal with him. This time it was probably both since the man was staring at her hand intently, a soft pink hue coloring his cheeks.

-Well... ummm... that would be the night before we headed here from the camp.

She remembered that; they had discussed the path to follow and the details of their upcoming trip for hours, she herself pushing her endurance to the limit, considering she had just woken up; and he had not looked any better, then. She had been informed of his previous state by almost every one of her friends, telling her how he had done everything in his power to find her, risking his own health, even refusing to rest after she was found. She had become both happy for his protectiveness and worried about his lack of self-preservation, and when the meeting was done, she had insisted he take a potion to relax, alleging she needed him in his best shape if he was going to organize the troops movements for recognizant of the ground and the shifts during their trip. He had accepted begrudgingly and went to sleep less than 10 minutes after taking the potion. She remembered Leliana coming to her a little after he had said his goodnights, a soft smile on her lips.

-Sometimes he reminds me of Alistair.- She had looked at the spymaster as if she had grown another head.

She heard stories of the king, and she even met him once in a social party to which her family had been invited. He reminded her of Cullen as much as an elf could remind one of a darkspawn. The king was too careless, almost bordering on goofy and inappropriate. Not that she had not liked him; he was agreeable, and it was evident he was almost too naive and innocent for the noble life. Those characteristics made him unique, even if it also made him less than perfect to reflect a royal appearance. Of course, that had been almost 10 years ago, in a visit the king had made to the Free Marches. She was just 15 years old and did not participate in a particularly long conversation with him, and his coronation was way too close in the past to make him a trained and practiced king. He usually fell into uncomfortable silences and made improper remarks, especially if his beloved wife was not by his side, but she doubted Leliana had seen a lot of him in the last few years, and if her memory was not failing her, when the spymaster met Alistair, she had been only a sister of the Chantry, and him a Grey Warden bastard obsessed with cheese. Not that this last trait had changed according to what she had heard.

Leliana notice her confusion and tried to clarify.

-He has this protective instinct to his people that borders on obsession, and he is willing to forget his own limitations and put his life at risk if it means he might save someone he cares for and considers an ally. More so if that someone is special to him.

She had nodded, while looking at his tent.

-Cullen is a devout Andrastian, and he fervently believes I was blessed by the Maker's Bride. I believe it's normal for him to go to those lengths to make sure I survived. Although I can't say I enjoy him risking his own for me, especially when I am not sure I am what he thinks.

She had not seen it, but Leliana was smiling when she answered.

-He is a good Andrastian, yes.- She paused for a few seconds -But he is _also_ a man.

The Herald had been so worried that she did not pay attention to this last part.

She was brought back to present when Cullen cleared his throat, evidently nervous of her awkward, lingering silence. She looked at him and stepped closer, almost touching his chest plate with her own. Her voice was soft and she did not hide her preoccupation for him.

-Please, Cullen, you cannot do this to yourself; I need you to rest enough. If not for anything else, do it to prevent me from worrying, will you?

Cullen visibly swallowed and looked into her eyes.

-I will. I'm sorry, Inquisitor, I didn't mean to make you worry. I promise I will rest tonight.- _If I can vanish you from my mind,_ he thought, but of course he dared not say it...


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Inquisitor Trevelyan

After arriving at Skyhold a week ago, things were starting to work. They had discovered quarries and log stands, and the scaffolds were ready, the roof and window repair work marching slowly but efficiently. The main hall chimney was fully functional, as was the garden well. Doors were repaired, which made several more places in the keep more accessible, though with each new room discovery, more jobs were accumulating. A dwarf named Cabot had used an old building that had been surprisingly intact in comparison as a tavern, and newly named it "Herald's Rest", which still made her laugh because she hardly got any rest at all as it was, and because the dwarf had purposely tried to honor her with that, he even welcomed Sera and Cole to live under its roof (and almost Bull and the Chargers as well; lately she had not seen them go back into their tents at night), the former in a room on the first floor that was quickly being filled with so many things that a month from now it would probably be overflowing. The spirit had taken refuge on the second floor, right in the opposite corner to the door leading to the battlements (and beyond that Cullen's office), no bed or furniture to be seen anywhere. Sometimes she worried about Cole; the boy was really lonely, and the fact that people seemed to forget who he was, or even his very existence, seemed to weight on him at times, that is until he could do something to make those people happier, and then he would just sit and watch them with a peaceful smile, claiming he _helped_ them, even if it was in the most simple and, for any other person, banal way. Yet, she was trying to spend as much time as she could spare with him to try to quell that loneliness that she was almost certain he felt, and he made sure she knew how much he appreciated the thought, always smiling at realizing she had not forgotten him (she could hardly imagine _how_ could she ever forget him).

Blackwall had taken the stables for himself (which reminded her she still needed to find a horsemaster for the Inquisition) usually working on the new War Table whenever he was not needed to help with some more urgent job. She had asked him if he did not want a room of his own, that even though it may take some time to make one available she could request one for him, but he had insisted he was more than happy to be there, and while they did not have a horsemaster he could work as one, tending to the brontos' needs as well and making sure their mounts were prepared for traveling that they would be doing, which should take place sooner rather than later.

Cassandra had done a similar thing, choosing the armory as her favorite place (when she was not training in the courtyard) and its second floor as her quarters. She also had denied a more suitable room. There, she exlained, she could oversee the weapons coming from the Undercroft to arm the soldiers as well as organize the distribution of them and repair requests of the gear that had been damaged in the Haven battle. Those, along with the crafts of new tools, the restoration works, and the repairs of door hinges, candelabras, braziers, and everything that involved even a minor metal part had poor Harrit practically enslaved in his forge. Not that the man ever complained; he loved his work and, with some of Dagna's contraptions, he could more or less attend to all the requests with a little help from some apprentices.

Solas had placed his study in some circular hall below the library where he spent most of his days either researching old books that had survived miraculously in the shelves, as well as some that the people arriving every day had brought with them, and quite a few that she suspected he and Dorian had saved from Haven. He was also beginning a mural in a section of the wall (he had request a significantly smaller scaffold and, considering he had been the only one that had known of the existence of this place and was therefore pretty much the one to thank for their new home, she did not hesitate to provide it ), an interesting representation of the formation of the Inquisition, the involvement of the mages in the cause, and the attack on Haven, Corypheus defiantly with his orb in hand.

Every time she visited him, she would stop to admire his work in progress, and had found herself attracted to the image of the Inquisition establishment. He had painted a pack of wolves howling to the skies, a huge sword with the all-seeing eye, the Inquisition's symbol, dominating the image. She liked the metaphor of them as a wolf pack, fighting together against a common enemy, protecting each other and making sure they all survived to live another day, and strangely enough it always reminded her of the wolf pack she had heard when she was alone in the mountains. After the battle of Haven, she remembered she had feared she would have to fight them, being easy prey for them alone and hurt as she was, but they had only followed her (though she never saw them, she could hear them until halfway to the top of the mountain) almost as if watching over her. Maybe they too thought of the Inquisition as a pack and had wanted to be sure she made it back to hers. Solas had smiled fondly when she told him that, and had touched one of the wolves in the wall, telling her maybe they had.

Dorian spend most of his days in the library, making Mother Giselle's life a little more unbearable, considering the woman had chosen that same area as her favorite for the moment, and none of them seemed eager to let the other one win that silent battle. The mage had, of course, accepted a room for himself, far more simple quarters than most had thought he would request. Dorian was elegant but was also a centered person who would not demand things that were out of their reach and were completely ludicrous to ask in their situation.

As for Vivienne, well _that_ was another story entirely. The enchantress had claimed the first floor balcony as her own, an open space that had effectively left everyone with the uncomfortable sensation of feeling like a trespasser every time they tried to reach the external door that lead to some guest rooms, currently in ruins. In addition to that wonderful feeling, the mage had asked Leliana to send some crows to Orlais requesting extravagant furniture and the most expensive finery, claiming that simply because they were forced to live in a dumpster did not mean they should live like vagrants. She had even taken some workers and convinced them to craft fancy screen separaters to preserve her privacy from the scaffold workers. The Herald tolerated it all in order to keep the peace in the fortress, but was determined to take a stand if Vivienne came up with any other unnecessary requests that would delay other more urgent projects or if she attempted to take money out of the Inquisition savings to pay for her luxuries.

She should be grateful though, if not for any other thing, for the fact that the mage's pompous behavior gave Varric enough material to make her laugh for ours at his depictions of Madame de Fer in his new political thriller. The dwarf himself spend most of his time in the main hall in front of the hearth, writing or taking notes of Maker knew how many things and sending from time to time a crow or two, some to Kirkwall were his editor was, some to the Merchant's guild, and others to mysterious recipients, the last case a few days ago when she had come to talk to him and found him trying to hide his half-written letter to her. She had joked about him trying to take Leliana's job as a spymaster and failing miserably, but had not pressed the issue further. After all, she trusted Varric and he, just as any of them, was entitled to have a private life. She had even provided the crow to send the letter to Kirkwall where it then, she suspected, would be forwarded to its true destination.

Today she did not have a lot to do according to her advisors, but she was trying to find something to keep busy after she finished her breakfast. The kitchen had just been officially opened this morning, cooks and servants already in their place of work, although the communal dinner in the hall would have to wait until the repairs there were completed, so she thought she might help with the delivery of the food to the refugees that were making camp in the courtyard until Skyhold could provide them with a better place to stay. As soon as she entered the kitchens, she heard the head cook complain about an intense smell that had invaded his work place and some of the contiguous rooms in the keep.

-Someone emptied a whole bag of turnips into the fire! Maker, the smell is everywhere! I was going to use them for dinner and then... I can't recall who took them.

She smiled. Looks like she was going to have to talk to Cole today. Knowing the spirit, he had a good excuse, but she was curious about why he would do such a thing, and besides she had to make sure he did not make a habit of burning dinner ingredients. She added that to the list of things to do, grateful to find some distraction, and helped a nervous servant to take some food and water to the refugees in the courtyard.

Once outside, she saw her young friend sitting on the battlements, looking down at the refugee camp, apparently quite concentrated in some sound or talk she, or anyone else for that matter, couldn't hear. She was about to go and ask him about the turnips when he raised his head and looked behind her, a big smile on his face. She turned to find Cassandra, Cullen, Leliana and Josephine watching her, the Seeker signaling to come closer. Once she did, her advisors made themselves scarce in a fashion that screamed _rehearsed movements_ and she wondered what they were all up too. Cassandra was after all looking at her as if she was eager to tell her something important.

-They arrive daily from every settlement in the region. Skyhold is becoming a pilgrimage.- the Seeker was looking at the refugees gathering in front of their tents, some of them receiving familiars in that instant, warmly welcoming each other. Cassandra began to climb the stairwell to the other part of the courtyard. Out of the corner of her eye, the Herald saw Cullen talking to some soldiers and Leliana waiting near the first rest on the steps to the main hall.- If word has reached these people, it will have reached the Elder One. We have the walls and numbers to put up a fight here, but this threat is far beyond the war we anticipated.- They had arrived at the top of the stairs and Cassandra paused to look back on her- But we now know what allowed you to stand against Corypheus, what drew him to you.

She raise her left hand, the mark in it glowing weakly.

-He came for this. And now it's useless to him, so he wants me dead. That's it.

Cassandra nodded slightly.

-The anchor has power, but is not why you're still standing here.

-No, that would be thanks to you all that stopped me from freezing to death in the mountains.- Cassandra ignored her remark and began walking again, rounding the yard onto the next flight of steps. She knew the Herald was not comfortable with the whole _Maker's blessed savior_ theory.

-Your decisions let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven. You are the creature's rival because of what _you_ did. And we know it. All of us.

Oh Maker, she had a _bad_ feeling about this. She followed Cassandra until the mid stairs where Leliana was waiting, her head low and her arms extended holding a two-handed sword, its pommel decorated with the shape of a dragon from whose mouth emerged the blade.

-The Inquisition requires a leader: the one who has _already_ been leading it.

Cassandra's speech had raised suspicions that this was where she was heading, but despite that she was surprised, perhaps because she did not see herself as a leader, certainly not one that raised _that_ kind of sword or rode a powerful stallion into battle, first in line in front of an army. Josephine gathering people in the courtyard to witness this moment and Cullen ordering the guards and soldiers of the Inquisition in a respectful line were not helping matters. Suddenly she felt like she was on the spot, all eyes on her, waiting for her reply.

As if it was necessary to bring her back to reality, and to clarify what she meant, Cassandra said, -You.

Now everyone _was_ looking at her. Even Cullen and Josephine had stopped calling people to their side, not that it was necessary; everyone in Skyhold seemed to be _there_ , even her inner circle... Was that Varric over there _taking notes_? Maker she was feeling light-headed.

Confused, and without anything better to say, she asked,

-It's unanimous? You all have that much confidence in me? -Way to sound self-assured, she chastised herself.- I mean, I'm not a warrior, I...-She was running out of words.

-All of these people have their lives because of you, they will follow.- _Yes, just like they followed me to Haven and almost end up dead_.

-That wasn't the question.

-I will not lie, handing this power to anyone is troubling, but I have to believe this is meant to be.- She was now urging her to take the sword from Leliana's hands, the spymaster looking almost devout, offering it to her as a tribute, a certainty in her eyes that the Herald envied.

She would never understand what made her step forward and take a closer look at the sword. Perhaps it was the faith they were placing in her, the conviction they seemed to have that this was the right choice, or maybe it was just an automatic action.

-There would be no Inquisition without you. How it will serve, how you lead, that must be yours to decide.

She took the hilt firmly in her hands and from below, quiet whispers reached her ears. She looked at the sword in her hands, as if all the answers were etched into its blade. A sense of pride (not for herself, but of all these people united to face a common enemy) filled her and she realized that even if she wanted to refuse, she could not. They were putting their lives in her hands ( _again)_ and she was not going to disappoint them.

-Corypheus will never let me live in peace; he made that clear. He intends to be a god, to rule over us all. He must be stopped.

-Wherever you lead us.- Cassandra raised her voice in order to be heard below. -Have our people being told?- The sense of _rehearsed movements_ came back to her, and almost as if to confirm it, Josephine stepped forward.

-They have. And soon, the world- Next to her, Cullen was waiting for something.

-Commander, will they follow?- Ah, _that_ was his cue apparently. But he surprised her, and the others, judging for their faces, by rallying the masses instead of just answering, giving them the opportunity to voice their own desires.

-Inquisition! Will you follow?- All of them, refugees, companions, soldiers, servants and workers, screamed their agreement, arms in the air.- Will you fight?- Cullen raised one arm and then the other, as a conductor in front of an orchestra.- Will we triumph?- He sounded enraptured, a strength and determination so palpable that it washed over her like a magical wave. The crowd was getting louder, so the Commander shouted, -Your leader! Your Herald! Your _Inquisitor_!

Between the cheers from all her people, the smiles, screams and whistles of her companions (Bull was frantic, raising a pair of women on his shoulders while emitting a battlecry at the top of his lungs) and the look on Cullen's face (Maker this man was going to be the death of her!), she felt overwhelmed, and could only raise the Inquisition sword high in the air, winning a higher cheer from the crowd. She could see from the corner of her eye how Leliana and Cassandra exchanged a smile, satisfied that their plan had turned out so well. Cullen looked straight into her eyes, a look that made her heart beat faster as she felt it reaching her soul, a warm smile on his lips that spoke volumes of the faith he had in her, and even Josephine screamed in a fit of excitement, only to feel completely embarrassed the second she lost control, fidgeting in her place and looking to both sides as if to check whether anyone had notice her slip out of her dignified persona.

In that moment, with all their support, she felt totally capable of anything, and she knew she would have to live up to her new title soon enough.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Today is my birthday and some friends are coming over tonight so I don't know when I'll go to bed and therefore when I'll wake up tomorrow so that's why today, and in celebration of my 30th year in this world, I give you the 7th chapter one day ahead. It has a lot of game dialogue but with my personal touch. Enjoy ;)**_

 **~oOo~**

Chapter 7: Strategies

-So this is where it begins.

Cullen's voice reverberated in the great hall, it's echo making the statement more ominous, if that was even possible.

-It began in the courtyard. This is where we turn that promise into action- Leliana's soft voice replied, a counterpoint to Cullen's powerful one.

-But what do we do? We know nothing about this Corypheus except that he wanted your mark.- Sometime between the moment they named her Inquisitor and then gathered here to discussed the next movement, Josephine had taken out her notepad and quill, and was ready to write down any necessary action. Once again the Herald looked at her hand, as if it could tell her Corypheus' secrets or weak spots. She turned and looked at Cullen.

-Corypheus wants to restore Tevinter. Is this a prelude to war with the Imperium?- The idea of fighting the magisters on top of everything else frightened her.

-I get the feeling we are dealing with extremists, not the vanguard of a true invasion.- Cullen spoke with conviction.

-Tevinter is not the Imperium of a thousand years ago. What Corypheus yearns to "restore" no longer exists- Josephine added.

-Yes, but something tells me that will not stop him. Besides, if there is any place obsessed with its "glorious" past, it's Tevinter. Some magisters are determined to live as close to the old ways as they can.- she did not want to rely on suppositions when it came to the magisters; she had seen what they were capable of, what _one_ of them alone was capable of, and she shuddered to imagine what _all_ of them together could accomplish.

-In truth, they will shed no tears if the south fell to chaos, I'm certain.- Josephine was always so politically correct that in other circumstances she would have laughed at her unnecessary subtlety.

-And as if trying to lure the most powerful mages in Thedas is not enough, he said he wanted to enter the Black City, and that this would make him a god, although I find that hard to believe.

-He is willing to tear this world apart to reach the next. It won't matter if he's wrong.- Leliana sounded worried. For her, Corypheus was threatening not just their lives, but he was menacing her whole belief system more than any other Andrastian she had ever met. Her spymaster was the most pious person she had known and her connection with the late Divine made all of this that much harder for her.

-What if he's not wrong? If he finds some other way into the fade...- Cullen was just voicing what they all had been thinking, but that did not make it easier to hear.

-Then he gains the power he seeks or unleashes catastrophe on us all.

-Let's hope it does not come to that. I have seen the future that Corypheus is trying to create and I will do whatever it takes to make sure it remains a delusion from a madman, and nothing more.- She hesitated to voice her next thought, but she needed to put it on the table, figuratively speaking. -He is not alone in all of this, though. Could his dragon really be an Archdemon? What would that mean? Leliana you fought one before, is it really one?

-I can't say for certain if it is an Archdemon or not, Inquisitor, but one thing is certain: If it is, it will mean the beginning of another Blight.

-We've seen no darkspawn other than Corypheus himself. Perhaps it's not an Archdemon at all, but something... different?- Josephine sounded like a child begging her parents to reassure her that the monsters in her closet didn't really exist. Sadly, she could not tell her that.

She could always count with Cullen to be the voice of reason, though.

-Whatever it is, it's dangerous. Commanding such a creature gives Corypheus an advantage we can't ignore.

-Are the people safe here, Cullen?

-I already ordered the workers to start building trebuchets to add to Skyhold's protections, and we are trying our best to repair the walls. We have the location in our advantage, and the fact that the attack on Haven diminished Corypheus' forces more than ours. Unless he can raise an army out of nowhere, we should be able to finish the restoration in time for any attack.

She nodded and thought for a minute before continue.

-Someone out there must know _something_ about Corypheus.

-Unless they saw him on the field, most will not believe he even exists.- Things were looking quite grim, the weight of reality bearing down on their shoulders.

Leliana interjected to shed a little light.

-We do have _one_ advantage: We know what Corypheus intends to do _next_. In that strange future you experienced, Empress Celine had been assassinated.- Not the first thing she would have brought up, but yes, she did have a point.

-Imagine the chaos her death would cause! With his army...

 _They do not know half of it_ , she thought, trying to banish the images of all of the people she had come to care for dying (or already dead) from her mind. She focused on Leliana's face, trying to superimpose her healthy features over the scarred and tortured one screaming for attention in her memories.

-An army he'll bolster with a massive force of demons, or so the future tells us.- Cullen added.

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

-Please, stop!- She was almost begging them to cease feeding her memories and imagination, or else she would not be able to stop them from getting to her and wavering her determination. Her advisors glanced at her, the women feigning that they had not heard her, possibly to protect her from feeling weak. Cullen did likewise, but could not hide his shock at her reaction, as if he blamed himself for saying all those things.

Just before he made to apologize, Leliana stopped him, sighing.

-I'd feel better if we knew more about what we are dealing with.

-I know someone who can help with that- Varric's voice barrelled in from the entry. He walked over to them as he talked, waving a hand with a guilty expression on his face. -Everyone acting all inspirational jogged my memory, so I sent a message to an old friend.- The letter he had hidden from her a few days ago. -He's crossed paths with Corypheus before, and may know more about what he's doing. He can help.

-You mean he is _here_ already?- she asked, already knowing the answer.

-Yes well, you had been acting inspirational for _days_ now. He arrived this morning, before dawn.

-That's impossible! No one informed me of any arrival _that_ early. He can't just enter Skyhold without being noticed.- Cullen was talking as if the dwarf had wounded his pride, even worse considering he had revealed this in front of the women.

Varric raised his arms as if giving up on the Commander.

-Hey, I'm not saying it was easy, but he has his methods.- Now Cullen's temper was beginning to surface, and the dwarf knew he had to give him some information in order to placate that rage.- Don't worry, Curly, no need to go forcing hard labor on your guards. I'm sure my friend wouldn't have been able to enter unnoticed if he hadn't had my assistance.- The moment he said that, everyone knew he had made a mistake. Varric rushed to explain himself. -I assure you it's for a good cause, and it will never happen again,- he dropped his voice to almost a whisper -without a good reason.

Cullen took a step forward to deal with the dwarf, but she laid her hand on his arm, stopping him in his tracks. She would deal with Varric in time; after all, she just saved his life, if Cullen's burning eyes were any indication.

-Ok, Varric, if your friend can help, I'm more than willing to hear him. Introduce us.

The dwarf looked over his shoulders, as if he was wary he might be discovered talking about this mysterious person. Whoever this friend was, he was evidently important to him.

-Emmmm... parading around might cause a fuss. It's better for you two meet privately. On the battlements. Trust me... it's complicated.- And with nothing more to go on, Varric left the hall, leaving them to their business.

Josephine broke the silence, sounding more positive than before.

-Well, then! We stand ready to move on both this concerns.- Josephine said, making a note for herself on her parchment.

-On your order, Inquisitor.- Cullen's still sounded as though he was grinding his teeth.

Leliana was still frowning to herself.

-I know one thing: If Varric has brought who I _think_ he has, Cassandra is going to kill him.

-Care to share with us, Leliana?

-It would be best if you meet with Varric's contact as soon as you find time, Inquisitor. Who knows, I may be judging our storyteller too harshly.

As the spymaster spoke, Ser Morris arrived to discuss the restoration works, and before she could say anything else, her advisors took their leave.

 **~oOo~**

Half an hour later, the Inquisitor was finally out of the main hall, the latest orders regarding the reconstruction of Skyhold already formalized. She walked down the steps to the lower courtyard on her way to the battlements when she saw Cullen leaning against a makeshift table surrounded by a few of his men.

-Send men to scout the area. We need to know what's out there.- It looked like their talk about what little they knew of Corypheus' remaining forces had set the Commander into taking more direct action to pull their minds out of the dark. Two soldiers punched their hearts in salute and left to fulfill the orders given to them, another one soon taking their place.

-Commander, soldiers have been assigned temporary quarters.- Oh yes, with all that had happened, she'd forgotten to tell Cullen that she and Josephine had talked the day before about the new location of the troops.

-Very good, I'll need an update on the armory as well.- The soldier remained at his side, an aloof look on his face. She almost laughed out loud when Cullen turned a stern look on him and said firmly, -NOW!- The poor man almost ran away in the direction of the armory. She could just imagine how Cassandra would receive him if the spooked soldier sprinted in there. The Seeker would put the fear of the Maker in him worse than Cullen had.

She took the place of the runaway soldier and Cullen began to talk more calmly.

-We set up as best we could at Haven, but could never prepare for an Archdemon, or whatever it was. With some warning, we might have...- He looked ashamed, the guilt in his eyes and voice plain. He avoided her gaze and scratched at his neck, nervous.

-We were all shaken by what happened.

-If Corypheus strikes again, we may not be able to withdraw. I wouldn't want to, we _must_ be ready. As I said before, work on Skyhold is underway, guard rotations established... We should have everything on course within the week. We will not run from here, Inquisitor.

-How many were lost?- She had received a report, but she wanted to know whether it was complete and she knew Cullen would not lie to her.

-Most of our people made it to Skyhold. It could have been worse. Morale was low, but has improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor.

She laughed at that.

-It has been only a few hours; imagine what I could do with a whole week.- She winked at him.

Cullen seemed to realize he had said something quite stupid and began to fidget, one hand on the pommel of his sword, the other in the back of his neck, and his eyes anywhere but on her.

-Yes, well, you have an impact on the people... on all of us,- he admitted, merely whispering the tail end of his statement.

She graciously gave him a way out of what looked like a difficult strain on his nerves.

-Inquisitor Trevelyan. It sounds odd, don't you think?

-Not at all,- he countered surprisingly, still having trouble meeting her gaze.

-Is that the official response?

Cullen laughed and she felt him relax a bit. He straightened his back and finally found enough nerve to face her.

-I suppose it is, ...but it's the truth. We needed a leader. You have proven yourself.

Now it was her turn to be nervous. Her new title was still too recent, and the way he looked at her, just the way he had back in the courtyard when he had rallied all the people to her side, made her uneasy. He had such hope in her... It was almost unbearable.

-Thank you, Cullen.

He was looking at her eyes now, smiling softly, and she spoke before she could think.

-Our escape from Haven...- Maker, why did she bring this subject up? She wanted to tell him how glad she was that he was alive, what it had meant for her to see him rushing to her aid when she was losing consciousness, to wake up and see his cloak waiting for her as a silent offering, making her feel protected, needed... -It was close. I'm relieve that you... that so many made it out.

Great, now _she_ was stuttering. How did he do that to her? She was never the blushing, stuttering type, usually on the receiving end of that reaction more than once from him (last time, only a few minutes ago). But now, the way he looked at her, even with her sight trained on the dirt, she could _feel_ his eyes on her. She peeked through the hair falling over her eyes in time to spot the sweetest look she had ever seen, his voice almost melting her on the spot when he replied,

-As am I...

She wanted to ask if he referred to her or the rest of the survivors. Was he happy that she was there? Maker, what was wrong with her?! He was glancing off to the side now, actively avoiding her, and she did not know what else to do but walk away. The same soft voice filled with worry, and possibly dread, stopped her awkward exit.

-You stayed behind. You could have...- His hand was on her arm, and she felt butterflies take wing in her stomach.- I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word.

And there he was again: Commander of the Inquisition, former templar, disciplined soldier. Just like that, Cullen the man was gone, replaced by a wall of professional courtesy, and she felt utterly ridiculous to have thought, however briefly, that there may have been something else underlying his words.

His hand dropped away, and she made a move to leave again as she noticed his hand twitch and heard him sigh quietly.

 _Was_ there anything else? It was now or never; she had to know if he had someone, if there was a woman somewhere out there, waiting for him... a wife, perhaps.

-Cullen?

-Yes?- He seemed more relaxed with the odd moment now over for him.

-People are coming to Skyhold seeking refuge and, as you said, we will be more secure within a week... You may want to send out a letter or two, inviting someone to join you here.- He seemed confused by her statement. -I mean,- she clarified, -maybe you left someone behind, back in Kirkwall..?

-No, I fear I made few friends there, and my family's in Ferelden.

-Well, to Ferelden then. I know the Inquisition might not be the perfect place to raise a family but you must miss them... or her.- She dropped her gaze, as if that would make it easier on her if he admitted he did have ties to another.

When she looked back at him, Cullen blushed immediately and her heart fell to the floor. So there _was_ a Mrs. Rutherford.

-I... ummmm...- He was touching his neck again. -I meant my siblings... I don't have a family of my own, Inquisitor.

She did her best to ignore the backflip her heart made within her.

-Really? No one special caught your interest?- That may have sounded a little smug, but to the Void with it, she _was_ happy to hear that.

She did not expect Cullen's brief reply.

-Not in Kirkwall.- Was it just her, or had that sounded like more than just a simple answer? He made it sound almost like an innuendo... and with that voice of his, Maker, she was certain her head would be replaying that little phrase all day.

She bit her lip. Apparently, Cullen had taken notice of that and therefore was once again reduced to a perfect replica of a caged lion. He cleared his throat and looked behind her.

-Well, that will be all. I better go meet Varric's friend now.

She could hear him muttering something along the lines of _"Certainly, Inquisitor"_ as she hurriedly walked away.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Old Friends, New Allies

Varric was already waiting for her on the battlements, a man a few steps away, his back to them as he looked to the mountain beyond the walls. The dwarf did not wait a second longer and, with tension in his voice, began the introductions as soon as she took the first step.

-Inquisitor, meet Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall.

-Though I don't use that title much, anymore.

-Hawke, the Inquisitor. I figured you might have some friendly advice about Corypheus. You and I did fight him, after all.- Varric was still acting skittish, as if he was preparing for a wrong move that might signal the need for an epic escape. She recalled something he and Cassandra had spoken of during their travels, about her interrogating him regarding a friend's whereabouts.

Suddenly the puzzle came together in her mind, and Leliana's words in the main hall made sense. Varric's apprehension about this whole situation became much less ridiculous. It was no wonder he was downing that bottle in his hand like his life depended on it. Cassandra was going to lose it when she found out.

-Oh, she is really going to kill you this time, Varric!

-What? You're not planning on saving me?- He was trying to lighten the mood, as if all of this was not that big a deal.

While she pretended for a time to weigh the pros and cons of standing between a bloodthirsty Seeker of Truth and her target, Varric began to shift about, looking genuinely nervous. As for Hawke, however, she could see him smiling in amusement at her side.

-Hmmm... I'll think about it. Maybe some information could persuade me though.- She turned to Hawke. -What do you say? Care to share something that might save our friend's life, here?- She smirked, pointing to Varric.

-You've already dropped half a mountain on the bastard, so I guess that's out for discussion. Anything else I can tell you now pales in comparison, though I applaud your ingenuity,- he said, extending his hand to shake hers. Instantly, she knew she liked this man. She always took to people who could follow her particularly sarcastic sense of humor, and even play along occasionally.

-Oh, I don't know. You did save a city from a horde of rampaging qunari.

-I don't see how that really applies. Or is there a horde of rampaging qunari I don't know about?- Hawke leaned over slightly on the battlements to survey the courtyard below, feigning a search for the invading army.

She chuckled,

-There's _a_ qunari. He almost qualifies as a horde all by himself. Fortunately, he's on our side.

-Too bad. I could have used the exercise.- He turned once more to face her as he leaned against the wall, his elbows bearing the brunt of his weight. -So, then, what can I tell you?- Hawke adapted a more serious demeanor, and she decided to do the same. Another characteristic she could admire: a person who knew when to be a jokester, and when to get down to business.

-Varric said that you fought Corypheus before.

-Fought _and_ killed. The Grey Wardens were holding him, and he somehow used his connection to the darkspawn to influence them.

-Corypheus got into their heads. Messed with their minds. Turned them against each other.- Varric added from behind them.

Hawke nodded his agreement.

-If the Wardens have disappeared, they could have fallen under his control again.

-So Corypheus has the Venatori, the Red Templars, and now possibly the Wardens as well? Wonderful.- Her humor was resurfacing again, but it was either that or scream in frustration, and she did not think the latter would be the better option. There was enough bitterness in her tone to indicate that her concern was real, though.

-I didn't come this far just to give you bad news.- Well, _that_ was a first for her. Ever since this whole mess started back in the dungeons of Haven, bad news was all she seemed to get. -I've got a friend in the Wardens. He was investigating something unrelated for me. His name is Stroud. The last time we spoke, he was worried about corruption in the Warden ranks. Since then, ...nothing.

-Corypheus would certainly qualify as corruption in the ranks. Did your friend disappear with them?

-No, he told me he'd be hiding in an old smuggler's cave near Crestwood.

-If you didn't know about Corypheus, what were you doing with the Wardens?

-The templars in Kirkwall were using a strange form of lyrium. It was red. I'd hoped the Wardens could tell me more about it.- That rang a bell, one she would have rather not heard.

-Corypheus had templars with him at Haven. They looked like they'd been exposed to the lyrium you describe. We also found some templar camps that were transporting it. Varric and I have been trying to destroy as many lyrium veins as we could find. There were some in the Hinderlands and the Storm Coast, but we don't know much about how it works, beyond what Varric... found out on his own...- She knew it was a sensitive issue for their friend, what with his brother and all, and she avoided looking at him, not wanting to make him feel worse by reminding him of his past.

Varric, of course, was too intelligent not to realize this and, once again, tried to make light of it.

-Not to worry, I can see when I'm not needed. I'll be hiding in the tavern for the rest of the day if you need me, but tell the Seeker I'm in the Undercroft, or further away, if you can think of a better place.- He left the bottle of wine he had opened next to a full glass that, incidentally, he had never touched, instead having elected to drink straight from the source. Sighing, Varric made his exit, stopping only to pat Hawke on the back, concluding only with, -Be careful, buddy: if you piss _this_ one off,- he pointed a finger at the Inquisitor, -you could be facing a holy ass-kicking in your near future. Doesn't matter how charming women consider you; even you can't conquer Andraste herself, not with the Maker breathing down her neck, anyway.- That said, he winked at her and went away, leaving an amused Hawke to chuckle on the battlements.

There was a moment of silence before Hawke moved to the storage barrel where the wine sat, filled another glass, and offered it to her, taking the green bottle for himself. He watched her as he drank, as if he was considering putting Varric's warning to the test.

She cleared her throat and started again,

-Red Lyrium?

Hawke seemed to bring his focus back around.

-Yes, right. We've come across some of it here and there. I'm sure Varric has told you about his brother, Bartrand, and you heard about Meredith, of course, but I'm afraid we don't know much about it besides the obvious, either. Hopefully, my friend in the Wardens will know more.

She drank deeply from her wine and decided to seize the opportunity to find out more about what happened in Kirkwall. She knew Cullen had been there, as well as Varric of course, but neither of them talked about it too much. Besides, there was a particular thing Hawke had alluded to that was troubling her.

-You said you think the Wardens were influenced by Corypheus. I understand Anders was a Warden himself... Do you think his attack on the Chantry may have had something to do with it? I mean, Corypheus aims to be a god; maybe he wanted to cripple any challenges another existing faith could pose, and in the meantime send the world into chaos so his path would be easier. Setting everything up in such a way as to get the whole south of Thedas fighting each other, instead of organizing a resistance against him, would clear the way for him as well as create a perfect distraction.

Hawke was shaking his head, already discarding her theory.

-Believe me, I would love to lay the blame for what he did on Corypheus, but sadly, Anders was under the influence of someone else, and I'm afraid this one wasn't much better.- He had her attention now.

-Has Varric told you about Justice?- Hawke laughed bitterly- I've never heard of a more ironic name.- He noticed her confused expression, so he straightened his posture, emptied his glass, and explained, -Anders harbored a spirit of Justice inside him. According to him, it wasn't a true possession, because he was a willing host. They joined forces in a sense after they met and became friends in Amaranthine, where they fought alongside the Hero of Ferelden. That's when Anders became a Grey Warden. Eventually, he agreed to share his body with the spirit to prevent it from disappearing back into the Fade. As one, they fought to free the mages but either because of Anders' rage or the nature of Justice, he was corrupted to a spirit of Vengeance, and convinced Anders that a peaceful solution was not possible. By the time I realized what had happened, my friend was lost and there was no telling them apart. I like to think Anders would not have done what he did if not for Justice's influence, but I'll never know the truth. Anders was not your quintessential monster or hero, as the minstrels make him out to be... Or maybe he was both... He was trying to change the world; he just went about it the wrong way... the worst way.

He paused for a moment, a painful memory coming to his recollection.

-I... had to kill him... In the end, he looked so grateful that it was finally over. I didn't even have time to grieve for him because the whole city was practically on fire, and a standoff was occurring in the mage's tower. The templars were determined to kill the lot of them, the Rite of Annulment on the brink of being enacted... Between both Vengeance and Meredith's efforts, I think every citizen of Kirkwall should be grateful it didn't become another lost name in the darkest chapters of history texts, that day.

She felt terrible for him, and wished belatedly that she had not brought it up, but maybe it was good for Hawke to mourn in this way. He certainly looked like he needed a friendly, impartial ear, and she figured he did not want to put that heavy burden on Varric's shoulders, if he could avoid it.

-Where did you go after the mages rebelled? Did you go looking for your family?

-I heard the Chantry might be sending an Exalted March to Kirkwall in order to put down the rebellion. We thought that fleeing the city would save lives and force the Divine to divide her forces to hunt us. As it turned out, I needn't have bothered. All the Circles started rising up in response to what happened, and the Exalted March never came. My brother's a Grey Warden, and I ran into him again during the attacks on the city but he could not stay to chat. Wardens remain neutral in this sort of fight. Still, when news of the Wardens acting strangely reached me, I could not ignore it, so I had my friend Aveline taking him as far from Orlais as possible. I had no choice; I've seen Corypheus affect Anders' mind before, and I couldn't risk the same happening to my kid brother.

She knew she shouldn't press the issue further, but there it was that, _again_ , and she had to ask.

-There's a Warden among us called Blackwall. -She looked at him, and could see in his eyes that he knew what she was going to ask.- Do you think I should be worried about him?

-If he was near Corypheus at Haven and didn't show any signs of being influenced in any way, I think he's safe for now. I do not know why some wardens seem to be immune to Corypheus' attempts to assume control. I've only heard about Stroud and the King and Queen of Ferelden being clear, and now your warden friend, as well... But it wouldn't hurt to check on him from time to time, just to make sure he is acting normally.- Hawke seemed a little more relaxed now that the subject had changed.

She nodded, grateful for the advice he had freely given, recognizing the fact that he had risked his safety by coming here to lend them a hand.

-Thank you Hawke, I appreciate your help.

-I'm doing this as much for myself as for you. Corypheus is my responsibility. I thought I killed him before. This time, I'll make sure of it.

She was about to tell him she would make sure to be right there fighting at his side when his words registered in her mind, shocking her.

-Wait, what do you mean you "thought you killed him"? You gave him up for dead?

Hawke tensed and seemed to be trying to control a sudden bought of anger.

-The Grey Wardens had him imprisoned. They used my father's blood in a ritual to seal Corypheus inside. But he could still reach out and influence the Warden's thoughts. He sent them after me. And I didn't just _think_ I killed him. When the fight was done, he was _dead_ on the ground. Maybe his tie to the Blight somehow brought him back, or maybe it's all Tevinter magic... but he was dead. I _swear_ it.

The rage had morphed into guilt too quickly, and she almost preferred the previous emotion. Anger she could manage, but guilt was harder to work with... Especially when the one expressing it was practically a stranger.

-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, or to imply you were careless.

Hawke smiled sadly and shot a glance at her.

-Don't worry. I would have said the same thing in your place. It's almost unbelievable, isn't it? That he could just die like that, only to rise up again as if by his own dark, twisted will?

She nodded, deep in thought. If Corypheus had the ability to come back from the dead, _how_ were they going to defeat him?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door being crashed through, and muffled shouts that without a doubt belonged to Cassandra followed closely behind. She leaned over the battlement walls as Varric shouted back in turn, only to watch as the Seeker dragged the dwarf forcibly into the armory after her.

Hawke raised an eyebrow and shot her a good-humored grin.

-Should I be worried?- His eyes shined with a gleeful spark of amusement.

-Probably, but save it for when she comes looking for _you_ next _._

For the shadow of a second, Hawke looked completely spooked, but then he laughed so loudly that his sudden outburst surprised her.

Another crashing blow rang out from below, and she shook her head as she straightened her tunic and sighed.

-I should go before she ties Varric to a pole and uses him as a training dummy.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Why Hawke?

The Herald crossed the courtyard as quickly as she could. She did not think Cassandra would actually kill Varric, but the warrior might leave him wishing she had, and that would bring trouble (not only because she liked the dwarf and cared enough to stop the Seeker, but because a brawl like that would eventually weigh on Cassandra). Not to mention the fact that leaving Varric at the woman's mercy would probably hinder the Inquisition's alliance with Hawke.

Upon entering the armory, she heard the commotion on the second level. She took the steps two of a time and arrived just in time to see Cassandra pushing Varric against the wall.

-You knew where Hawke was all along!- The Seeker looked furious, more than she could have imagined. Surprisingly though, Varric did not seem to be afraid of her. In fact, he took one step toward her and stood as tall as he could, responding with the same anger in his voice.

-You're damned right I did!- _Oh Varric, you idiot! You are playing with fire, lots and lots of fire_ , she thought as she watched Cassandra become visibly livider.

-You conniving little shit!- And there it was: the first punch, aimed directly at the dwarfs jaw.

Luckily, Varric was quick enough to dodge it, running to the other side of the platform the minute he straightened, putting a table between him and the Seeker.

-You kidnapped me! You interrogated me! What did you expect?!

Cassandra had her hand on the back of a chair and, if her expression was any indication, she was seriously considering throwing it at Varric's head. This was escalating far too quickly. If she did not intervene, it would end badly for one or both of them, possibly the three of them, too.

-Hey! Enough!- She used the same authoritative tone her mother had used with her and her brothers, completely unaware she was doing it until she heard herself. In other situations, she would have laughed at herself. She knew her brothers would have.

-You're taking _his_ side?- Oddly enough, Cassandra had taken her role, using the exact same words she had when she was younger, her mother's position wounding her pride. They only needed to say "He/She started it!" in order for her to answer, "Well, I'm ending it!" for to be a perfect reflection of her childhood.

Well, considering her own memories had served well thus far, she may as well use the rest of her mother's tactics.

-I said _enough_!

Both Cassandra and Varric seemed to relax a little, and even had the decency of looking just a bit ashamed of themselves. The Seeker breathed deeply and when she looked back at them, she seemed to have the world's weight on her shoulders.

-We needed someone to lead this Inquisition.- She then changed her demeanor to a more cold one, merely enumerating facts, trying to analyze the situation from afar. -First, Leliana and I searched for the Hero of Ferelden, but she had vanished. Then we looked for Hawke, but he was gone, too. We thought it all connected, but no… It was just _you_.- She focused on Varric again, and anger resurfaced. -You kept him from us!

-The Inquisition _has_ a leader.- Varric pointed at her as if he was revealing the obvious to Cassandra for the first time, as if he had kept his secret with full knowledge that the Herald would take care of everything, and his friend would not be needed.

-Hawke was our only hope. He was the Champion of Kirkwall. The mages respected him.- All of a sudden it seemed as though Cassandra had opened the door to her emotions, a direct road to her heart and shame; her voice cracked, -He would have been at the Conclave! If _anyone_ could have saved Most Holy...

So _that_ was what this was all about… She was still blaming herself for the Divine's death, and Varric had just given her the perfect excuse to vent her grief... Not that he was completely innocent, but it made her wonder just how much of this argument was because of the dwarf's lie, and how much was due to Cassandra's personal demons.

She looked at the Seeker and spoke softly,

-You can't change the past Cassandra. Varric's not responsible for what happened at the Conclave.

Cassandra dropped her head in defeat, the pain obvious in her voice.

-So I must accept… what? That the Maker _wanted_ all this to happen? That He... That He...

Varric must had believed this was a perfect moment to take the final blow, and seized it.

-I was protecting my friend!

And just like that, any advances she may had made in calming the Seeker went out the window. The Herald looked at Varric in such a way as to convey her thoughts about his timing, and the dwarf seemed to notice he had made a mistake.

Cassandra in the meantime had raised her head again, and was looking at him with murder in her eyes.

-Varric is a liar, Inquisitor. A _snake_. Even after the Conclave, when we needed Hawke most, Varric kept him secret.

-He's with us now- Varric interjected. -We're on the same side.

-We all know who's side _you're_ on, Varric. It will never be the Inquisition's.

Maker! Mother would know what to do; by now they would be apologizing to each other, and _feeling_ it, not just _saying_ it. She could try shouting at them again, but it seemed pointless. Diplomacy would probably be the best option.

-Attacking him now, won't help us, Cassandra,- she spoke softly again, trying to make her understand she was not protecting Varric, but attempting to solve this problem in the most peacful way possible. Truth be told, _she_ was the one that was on the verge of losing her temper once every couple of minutes, not him.

-Ha! Exactly!- She could have punched Varric herself when she heard that. He was convinced he had no guilt in this situation at all. She could understand his position, and had to admit she probably would have done similarly in his shoes, especially if Cassandra acted toward Varric the same way she did when the Herald woke up from the Conclave as her prisoner.

Still, she was not going to let Varric believe he could do anything like that again now that they were all allies, so she needed to curb his ego.

-And _you_ better not be keeping anything else from us!

Varric made a sound that almost made her laugh, a mix between a grunt and a sigh, something that contained all his frustration and at the same time let her know he had been defeated. He glanced at her and nodded.

-I understand.

Cassandra took the high road and instead of gloating by chastising Varric, she turned and leaned on the railing.

-He did bring Hawke. Late, perhaps, but Hawke is with us.- _That_ surprised her; she was giving credit for something Varric had done, and that was way more than she could have expected from how things stood even a minute ago. _Maybe I did learn something from mother after all. -_ I must not think of what could have been. We have so much at stake. Go, Varric. Just... go.- It was more a plead than anything else, and Varric turned, walking to the stairs with a contrite look.

Before he began to descend, though, he had to say one last thing, his voice full of pain and lingering anger.

-You know what I think? If Hawke had been at the temple, He'd be dead, too. You people have done _enough_ to him.- With that, he walked away, leaving Cassandra no more worse for wear than if he had landed a punch directly on her in the face with all his strength.

The moment they heard him shut the door of the armory, she spoke again,

-I... _believed_ him. He spun his story for me, and I swallowed it.- She paced a little through the room as she spoke until she sat on a chair near the window.- If I'd just explained what was at stake... If I'd just made him understand...- Cassandra had trouble expressing what she thought. -But I didn't, did I? I didn't explain why we needed Hawke. I'm such a fool. -She was leaning on her elbows and as soon as the words left her lips, she placed her head in her hands, hiding her face from the Inquisitor.

The Herald kneed before Cassandra, trying to get her to look up at her.

-Let's assume for a minute that you could have seen past the fantasy he invented, that there was a tiny possibility you couldn't have fallen for a fable spun by one of the most famous storytellers in the whole of Thedas. What then? What if you had tracked Hawke down?

She raised her head enough to look at her, a grateful look mixed with the pain she still felt.

-Honestly…? Hawke might not even have agreed to become Inquisitor. He supported the mage rebellion, after all. He wouldn't have trusted me for a second.- She took a deep breath and dropped her shoulders, temporarily losing that warrior image she always reflected. -But this isn't about Hawke, or even Varric.- She was shaking her head as if negating her own point, or trying to clean her thoughts. -Not truly. I should have been more careful. I should have been smarter. I don't deserve to be here.

-Have you looked at our Inquisition, Cassandra? We're _all_ fools, here.

The Seeker laughed at this, a choked chuckle filled with bitterness.

-Is that supposed to make me feel better?- There was a small sparkle of humor there, deep in her eyes.

The Inquisitor shrug her shoulders.

-More at home, maybe.- She dropped her voice a little, sounding more reassuring, as if trying to console her. -You're too hard on yourself, Cassandra.- She really was; she looked tense all the time. She suspected that was why Cassandra had looked so happy when they'd named her the Inquisitor; some of that responsibility and weight had been lifted off of her, and now she faced many decisions as a friend and advisor, but at least not as one of the heads of the organization.

-Not hard enough, I think.- _Maker, she was a lost cause. One of these days I'll take her to get a drink and try to meet the woman behind the warrior, the one that hides in the Chantry teachings._ While she was planning this, Cassandra took a deep breath. -I want you to know, I have no regrets. Maybe if we'd found Hawke or the Hero of Ferelden, the Maker wouldn't have needed to send you. But he did.- She tried to smile as she admitted, -You're... not what I'd pictured. But if I've learned anything, it's that I know less than nothing.

She took her hand and smiled warmly at her, trying to close this subject and leave her with some resemblance of closure.

-You and all of us. Fool's Inquisition remember?- Cassandra did laugh this time, fleeting as it was. She squeezed her hand lightly- You did well, Cassandra, you always do. Do not doubt yourself.

At that, she rose to her feet and slowly went to the staircase, anticipating the Seeker having something else to say. When she did not, the Herald looked at her one last time, smiled, and stepped down.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw Cole waiting for her. He was about to talk, but she put a finger on his lips and led him outside. Cassandra was having a bad day; she did not want to make it worse by letting her know the boy had heard their conversation.

When they were outside, Cole looked at her questioningly and she nodded, giving him permission to talk.

-You helped, but she still remembers. Pain, guilt, shame, but now, release, peace, serenity. How did you do it?

She put her hand on his shoulder, smiling when he flinched for a second only to relax the next, and even looked at her hand as if it was something marvelous that she could reach out and touch him, let alone wanted to touch him, without fear or revulsion.

-Sometimes people just need to talk about how they feel. We can learn from our pain. In some cases, it's nice that you help them forget so they can keep going, but there are times when we need to remember. That's how we learn to cope, the way we grow as people.

Cole seemed to consider her theory carefully while glancing in the direction of the armory.

-But she's still in pain… just a different pain.- He seemed too confused by this, and she found herself feeling impotent at not being able to explain herself better.

-It's difficult to understand, I know, but give yourself time. By being here with other people, you will be able to understand them better. It's what happens to all of us when we grow up.- She placed a hand on his arm and he looked at her sadly. - You do so much more than any of us does, Cole. You just need to get used to the way we feel, and that it's the same process that happens to all of us as we grow. In a lot of ways, you are more mature than us, more capable of understanding what someone needs to overcome their grief. But in other ways, in the more complex ones, you are still too young.

He did not seem to take this explanation any easier. _Maker, this is hard!_

-But then I don't really help. I make things worse!- He looked at her with panic in his blue eyes. -Should I not make them forget? Am I hurting them?

-No! No, Cole, please don't think that! You do the right thing, the exact thing people need when they need it most. Remember when you asked me if you should make that healer forget about Pierre? If you should make her forget her guilt?- The boy nodded cautiously at that. -You did make her forget about that, because there was no reason she should feel guilty. Pierre was going to die anyway, and it wasn't her fault. But you did not make her forget other deaths in her career that helped her mature as a professional healer. She needed to experience those losses, no matter how much they hurt, in order to help others. The same thing happened just now with Cassandra… She needs to remember what she _thinks_ she did wrong, even though she didn't act incorrectly, to became better, to avoid making the same mistake again. Just as you do when a helping method doesn't work: you try again, but you don't forget what did not work. As you said, you help different from how a person would, but it works.

Cole was not entirely convinced, and she lowered her eyes to the ground with a sigh.

-I'm sorry, my friend, I'm afraid I'm not very good at this.

She looked back up to him to find him beaming.

-I'm your friend?

He expressed himself so innocently that it almost broke her heart to think she had not told him that before. She considered Cole a gentle spirit, although she did not see him _as_ a spirit, but as a boy learning his way in life, almost like a lost child who needed all the love and caring she could give. She hugged him tightly.

-Of course you are, Cole. You _are_ my friend and if you like, you will always be.

He smiled so sweetly that she wondered how anyone could not consider him at least part human.

-I'd like that. I haven't had any friends since Rhys and Evangeline. It felt... empty.- He looked directly into her eyes and, as if savoring the words, said a slow, - Thank you.

She smiled and repressed a laugh just in case he took it the wrong way. Letting go of his arm, she began to walk up toward the Great Hall, gesturing for Cole to follow.

-So... I heard someone burned turnips in the kitchen. I get the feeling it was you.

Cole looked ashamed.

-A worker, falling, weight breaking wood, stone hurts him, he bleeds but you can't see it, it's hidden under his skin. Friends scream his name, Garin, but he didn't listen. He breathes but knows he is dying, he wishes to be home, remembers his mother's turnip stew. He is in pain, needs to feel at home, again.- Cole was obviously reliving the incident for the man.

She remembered the report about Garin's death. He fell from the scaffold and landed on a paving stone. He was in the care of the healers for an hour, still breathing, but apparently already absent from this world. There was nothing they could do to help him, the internal bleeding too widespread to contain. They had only administered a potion to block the pain, and waited for the inevitable to take place. She had talked to Josephine about it, and together they had done what they could. The man's body had been committed with those who were lost since Haven, the record of his sacrifice for the people of the Inquisition set. As for his fellow workers, they had been moved to another site and allowed some time off for anyone who requested it. Most importantly the security measures had been amplified to prevent another accident like it from happening again. Nevertheless, no matter what they did now, Garin was dead, and that would not change, as any other death under her command (officially since she became Inquisitor and unofficially from before) weighed on her as one failure.

She had stopped walking without realizing, and Cole was next to her in an instant.

-You're hurt. I can help.- She looked at him and he rushed to clarify.- Not by making you forget. By showing you. -She frowned, not understanding his meaning. -They liked you. All of them believed in you as a guide, a friend, a protector, someone worth fighting for. Gentle, kind, humble, honest, she shines with her own magic. She saves us, shows us what it means to live in peace.

He was telling her what the people thought of her, and even though knowing they had held her in such high esteem made it worse in a way, she could not let Cole know that, and hoped with all her power that he could not read her. He was trying to help differently, to understand her on another level; she did not have the heart to tell him he had failed. A tear ran over her face and she kissed Cole's cheek.

-Thank you, my friend.

She walked into the keep, but when she turned to ask Cole if he wanted to join her in checking on Varric, he was gone.

She found the storyteller in his usual spot in front of the hearth, polishing Bianca's wood with a cloth and what looked like bee's wax. She joined him and kept silent for a few minutes before telling him,

-Cassandra's calmed down. I think you can take your hand off your crossbow.

The dwarf looked at her and, though he stopped with his polishing, he did not put Bianca aside quite yet.

-Define "calmed down" for me in terms of who or what she's punching right now.

-Well,- she feigned concentration, as if she could _see_ what the Seeker was doing in that exact moment and was making an effort to put it into words, -She's not punching _you_. Think you can consider yourself lucky enough for that?

Varric laughed sincerely at this.

-Yeah, I'll take any small miracle I can get.- He changed his demeanor to a more serious one. -I wasn't trying to keep secrets. I told the Inquisition everything that seemed important at the time.

-I know Varric. You never would've kept quiet otherwise.

For a minute he looked defeated even after she tried to reassure him.

-I keep hoping... none of this is real. Maybe it's all some bullshit from the Fade, and it'll just disappear. I know I need to do better. I'm sorry.

-Don't be, Varric, you are doing your best; we all are. -She hesitated for a second, then decided it was important to speak truth to him. -Look, don't tell this to Cassandra, but if I was in your place back then, I would have done the same thing. And if it makes you feel any better, you are one of the few people I would conceal in order to protect you, without a shadow of a doubt.

He smiled once again.

-Me too, Inquisitor.- As usual, he needed to cut the sentimentalism with some humor. -And hey! Now Cassandra will chase us both to use us as training dummies.- They both laughed at the mental picture.

-I swear, dwarf, if one word gets out about this, _I_ will be the first to tie you to a pole and train with you, never mind Cassandra!


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: A Goat and a Beer

When they reached Skyhold's gates, she breathed the crisp air deeply, grateful that this whole odyssey was finally over. She had intended to take care of this back at Haven, but when she had gathered her party to venture forth, Corypheus had sprung his attack. After that it all went to the Void, and with the new fortress and all it required, she had been forced to wait until a week after they had settled to venture out again. All the way to the Fallow Mire, she'd prayed to the Maker that the crow she sent to the Avvar holding her people captive had arrived in time, and that Leliana's tactics to gain a little more time would work. Josephine had told her she could try to solve this diplomatically, but they were talking about an Avvar; he would never let this go until he got what he wanted. And that, apparently, was her.

The trip there took them merely three days. It would have been less than that if Dorian had acquiesced to riding a Drakolisk, but he refused completely. The creature, he'd said, did not and _would not_ , compliment his looks, _ever_ , no matter how Tevinter-esque she insisted the creature appeared. She had laughed and indulged him, realizing silently that what he actually had was a strong apprehension toward it. She, on the other hand, had chosen the Basking Longma, a rare northern variant that Dorian's countrymen had sold the Inquisition because they considered it far too spirited for riders without the will to match. Fortunately, she had both will _and_ experience in riding to spare, after all the stallion in her family's blazon was not for ornamental purposes. She had learned to ride at a very young age, almost an inherited trait in her bloodline. For this mission, nevertheless, she favored the Drakolisk over her Free Marches Ranger, considering the creature was more suited for the uneven terrain, his agility an advantage.

Sadly, no matter how fast and agile her mount proved to be, the only thing that had taken a few days was their trip to the Fallow Mire; the rest of their experience had been quite the opposite. It took them no less than a week to explore the area, making their way through hordes of possessed corpses and the boggy mire itself to reach the fortress where the Avvar held her people. After rescuing them, they had to trudge their way back to the Inquisition camp through the mire's treacherous frontier.

The Avvar and his men had fought ferociously, and by the time they were defeated, her party had depleted their entire supply of health potions (and due to Dorian's presence, a considerable amount of the lyrium vials) but they managed to save everyone, and even when tired and injured, her soldiers remained grateful. While they rested for a day, mainly to give Dorian the chance to completely recover (the amount of lyrium he'd consumed was too much to not have consequences in his body) and the rescued soldiers to heal, she saw to it personally that her people were safe, and talked to the ones making the rounds about how they could face off against the undead more efficiently.

The next day the whole group had begun their journey back to Skyhold. Harding had said she could go ahead of them, but the Inquisitor was not willing to risk another kidnapping; she trusted her soldiers' abilities, but they were not at their best, and although the journey with the complete caravan carrying tents and provisions would be much longer, she preferred that they stuck together.

Five more days had passed when they finally arrived at Skyhold, and after her long sigh, she could not hasten to her chambers fast enough. Despite the fact that her desire and need for a bath was strong, she was deep in the habit of taking her mount to the stables herself, a custom her father had ingrained since she was tall enough to unsaddle her own horse. He used to tell her she owed respect to her mount, who had taken her dutifully to where she needed to go, carrying her weight and obeying her without protest, and even when they did not behave all the time, taking care of them would create a bond between a horse and a rider that was hard to break. She respected her father and honored his teachings every opportunity she could.

She reached the stables and Horsemaster Dennet approached her, taking the reins himself, always eager to help her.

-Inquisitor. I trust your journey was satisfactory,- he said conversationally as a greeting.

-It was exhausting, but if you're referring to the dracolisk, he behaved perfectly.- She caressed the snout of the creature who, delighted, opened his mouth and took her hand in it to encourage her to stroke his tongue. She complied, although her hand ended up covered in a thick coating of drool.

-Andraste's flaming sword, if I had not seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't had believed it!- While taking a cloth from a barrel next to the stalls to wipe her hand, she looked at Dennet with curiosity, wondering what he had meant by that. -Since you brought these beasts here, I've studied them as much as I could, reading every book we had that referenced them, and one said they usually do that when they acknowledge superiority, to show submission, although it's extremely rare considering his wild nature; especially this one. He's bitten more than one stable boy; did you know that?

-I had no idea- she admitted lamely.

-It looks like even the animals can see you for who you are, Inquisitor.

-He just likes me because I let him gallop every time we're in a secure open space.- Dennet made a gesture that indicated he hardly believed that was the reason, and left to put the saddle back inside. She spared a few moments to pat the forehead of her favorite horse, a magnificent stallion her family had sent her when they found out she was alive and well back in Haven. The Free Marches Ranger tapped the floor with his hoof and made a rebuff when she took a step back, only to show his excitement once again when she came back with a couple of sugar cubes in hand. She gave them to him, patting his head again as he munched away greedily.

Once she was out, she headed for the kitchen door, gathered some bread and cheese from the counter, ordered hot water for a bath, and went straight to the main hall, praying the Maker would help her sneak into her room without someone noticing her. Her god, apparently, was not on her side that day, for the moment she stepped out of the door, Josephine was waiting for her, notepad in hand.

-How the...?- She sighed, -Never mind, what can I do for you, Josephine, exhausted and filthy as I am? I hope you're not expecting to introduce me to anyone in this state.

She chuckled at that.

-Not at all, Inquisitor. We are trying to make a good impression on the nobility after all, and you are…- She looked at her from head to toe, appraising her appearance, -not _exactly_ at your best.

-To put it mildly.- She motioned the ambassador to follow her to her bedroom.

-Yes, and I'm aware this is not the perfect time, but I believe there is something you need to know.

-I'm listening.

-Yesterday, we were attacked.- She did not let the Antivan finish, her posture adopting a defensive stance and her mind already in battle mode. Josephine saw the change in her demeanor and rushed to explain. -Please, do not worry, it is nothing of consequence! I would not have mentioned it, were it not for the... peculiarity... of the assault.

The Inquisitor raised an eyebrow and looked at her strangely.

-Speak plainly, Josephine: how many were they? Did they get past our outer defenses? Did we lose anyone?

Josephine put a hand in the air in an attempt to calm her.

-Relax, Inquisitor. The culprit is in the dungeons, and the only casualty was a goat… since it was the siege weapon of choice.

-The _what_?- She could not believe her ears. One of three things was happening: Either Josephine was speaking stranger than she usually did, the battle in the Mires had affected her hearing, or the world had gone madder than she thought. None of those boded well, considering she had hoped she could take a break after her bath. She looked at Josephine, rubbing her forehead to ease the rising tide of a headache. -Whatever this is, can it wait? I think I need at least a bath before I confront this.

-Certainly Inquisitor. Please come to see me once you are refreshed,- she said with a nod, and left her standing in her room, baffled by the news.

oOo

A couple of hours later, she sat at a table in the Herald's Rest, listening as Varric told the tale of the mighty Inquisitor and how she vanquished Movran the Under and his terrifying goat. Everyone was laughing out loud at the ridiculous story Varric was purposely exaggerating. It had all begun after she'd informed the dwarf what had happened in their absence, and he was thoroughly disappointed he was not present to see it. He even regretted missing the judgment, but the event itself, he confided, was perfect for a hilarious comedy. That was when he'd perched himself over the bar and began to tell the tale of his new fable, improvising the most ludicrous plot, barely resembling what had actually happened. Only the goat smashing into the fortress's exterior wall remained untouched in the story because, according to him, it was too good as it was.

That's were Hawke found her, trying very hard not to spit her drink as she quietly suspected Varric was purposefully waiting to say something particularly funny until she took another swig, if only to see her strain and end up with beer coming out of her nose. In fact, the moment the man arrived, he had to pat her back repeatedly in order to prevent her from choking.

-You should hear his version of Aveline's courtship,- he smirked, now rubbing her back while looking at his friend with a smile.

-I bet it's as flattering for her as this one is for me.- She did not mind too much that his hand, now still, was lingering on her back, but she could not say outright that she enjoyed it, either.

-May I?- he said while gesturing toward the chair next to her. She nodded and he took a seat. -I heard the trip to the Fallow Mires was interesting.

-I did not take you for the diplomatic sort, Hawke. It was a pain in the ass, you can say it.

He laughed at this.

-At least you got two new agents out of it.- He looked at Varric, who was now mimicking Movran's attack on Skyhold. -And a magnificent story to boot.

She shook her head in amusement.

-That I can't deny.- She pointed at her head and Hawke's while catching the waitress's eye, and turned to look at him again. -So, what brings you here tonight?

-The drinks, though I must say that the company is what's keeping me here,- he admitted with a dashing smile.

She laughed at him. Hawke was the flirtatious type, and that evidently had worked well for him in the past, but she was no blushing peasant. She tried to ignore the voice in her head that pointed out, rather annoyingly, that she had played that part more than once while talking to or thinking of a certain Commander. Even though she liked Hawke, she was not interested in anything else beyond friendship, not that she was taking his flirtation seriously.

The waitress brought their drinks and, taking his mug, Hawke raised it to her.

-To you, my lady, and to our… alliance. -The last word almost sounded like an innuendo. He was most certainly playing with her, his mischievous eyes betraying him. She was about to show him that two could play at that game when Hawke suddenly cast a glance behind her. -Cullen! Glad you could make it!

She almost jumped clear off her seat. What was _he_ doing here? He _never_ came to the tavern!

-Hawke. Inquisitor.- Cullen nodded to both in return, but did not take a seat, instead focusing on them oddly. They were too close for his liking; Hawke was even inclined in her direction, evidently interrupting a toast of some sort upon his arrival. The Inquisitor didn't look particularly comfortable, but maybe that was due to his sudden appearance. He was not able to watch her face before, being that she was facing the opposite wall to the door. He'd known of Hawke's reputation back in Kirkwall. They had not been friends, but he liked the man well enough. The fact that he was a mage had been troubling at first, but Cullen had come to respect him in his own way. Even if they were complete opposites in almost every aspect he could think of, he recognized Hawke was a blessing for Kirkwall.

Maker knew what would have happened had Cullen not arrived when he did, but he had heard often enough that Hawke was the kind of man whom enjoyed fleeting relationships, and although he never lied to any of his conquests that he had known of, he had broken more than one woman's heart, and even enraged a few others. There were enough scandalous stories about his amorous adventures to raise Cullen's concern for the Inquisitor. Certainly she would not be so naive as to fall for it, would she?

She was looking at him with a waiting, patient smile, and he felt a pang of resentment that she had not come to speak to him upon her arrival. He found himself speaking before he could rationalize to himself that he held no claim over her time.

-I was unaware you had returned Inquisitor; welcome back.

It was a lie of course, one that she could see right through. She knew he received reports of every movement in Skyhold, especially regarding who entered or exited the fortress, but deep down some part of him wanted to put her in an uncomfortable situation, even though she had absolutely no obligation of reporting to him.

-Yes, well… I barely had time to bathe before Josephine practically sat me on the throne to judge the goat man.- She had incorporated Varric's nickname for Movran subconsciously. -Considering the hour, I didn't think it appropriate to bother you. I was going to send you the report on the mission tomorrow morning. The soldiers are safe and we acquired two new agents.

He was about to respond when all the tavern began to clap in unison, the dwarf bowing ceremoniously a couple of times before heading to their table.

-Curly! Good to see you came. If I'm right, I'm pretty sure Hawke owes you a beer,- he smiled, patting his old friend on the back.

Cullen stood perplexed for a moment.

-I can't imagine why. Actually, I was going to ask Hawke why he summoned me here.- He locked eyes with the mage, who was now grinning at him relentlessly.

-I _could_ say I merely wanted to thank you for defending us against Meredith, and in fact that is not far from the truth. I am grateful to you, and I did not have the opportunity to tell you that, but the real reason is that I lost a bet with Varric. He told me you would face her if she stepped over the line, and indeed you did; maybe not exactly when I would have wanted you to, but timing is not your forte.- Hawke smiled at him and gestured to a chair in front of him, right next to the Inquisitor. -What's your poison?

Cullen hesitated for a moment. In other circumstances, he was unsure he would have accepted the invitation, and after all this time he didn't know what he and Hawke could even talk about. His past was not his favorite subject, but he did not want to decline now and leave the Inquisitor at his mercy, despite the intense headache that was developing as they spoke. So, resignedly, he took the seat.

-A beer will suffice. Cheers.

Hawke ordered the beer with a finger and reclined in his chair to stare at Cullen.

-So... It's been some time,- he paused for a second, his brow furrowing, -it's "Commander" now, isn't it?- At a nod from Cullen, he continued. -I must say, I never expected you to leave the Templars, especially considering how we met.

-Oh? And how is that?

Cullen should have known the Inquisitor would not let that tidbit slip by unnoticed, and cringed at the memory of the story. This would not make him look good... At all.

-Well, we were asked to find a lost templar, a man named Keran, and went to a camp on the Wounded Coast. And so it was there that we found Cullen _interrogating_ one of his underlings.- The tone when he said "interrogating" was not lost on anyone, but the Herald, Maker have her in His glory, did not inquire about it.

-I knew he was involved in something sinister; I was not acting on a whim.

-Yes, sadly Cullen was right. The templar was actually possessed.- All three men could hear the gasp that came from her throat, although she did her best to disguise it.

-That Keran was possessed? Is that even possible for a templar?- She realized in the light of all they had seen in the Inquisition that her question sounded stupid on its face. -I mean, besides those _things_ that Corypheus creates.

Hawke shook his head.

-It wasn't Keran, but yes, it _is_ possible and it _was_ happening. But something good came out of it: after the battle, I was on your Commander's good side, so I was not dragged off to the Circle.- Hawke smiled broadly at Cullen, almost as if defying him to deny it. A part of Cullen's mind registered the fact that Hawke had called him _her_ Commander, and he decided he liked that more than he ought to.

Varric laughed.

-And by the time you could have locked him up, he was far too famous!- He looked at the Herald then. -After that we headed into the Deep Roads. By the time we got back, all of us were overflowing with profits, and Hawke bought himself some influence with the Viscount. Between the whole "becoming a noble" thing, and the _favors_ we did to the templars, well… We were untouchable.

He and Hawke were looking at Cullen so smugly that he felt the need to answer, if only to save his pride in front of the Inquisitor.

-Yes, well, you _were_ a valuable asset, but that did not mean we were not watching you closely. And what better way to do _that_ than to keep you busy?- He shot a glance at Hawke from the brim of his mug, almost smiling, but he should have anticipated Hawke to not be deterred by that.

-Oh, I don't know, Cullen; I heard phylacteries are quite useful for tracking mages.

-Don't think it was not suggested. After all, you left a lot of blood pooling on the city steps more often than not.

Varric intervened before Hawke could.

-You're shitting me, Curly!

-I'm not, actually. Meredith ordered me to do just that, once you began to show a reluctance to heed her... _requests_.

A deep silence fell over the table, none of them daring to make a sound, impressed as they were. Hawke appeared outwardly annoyed now, and behind that, Cullen thought he might've even seen some pain there, as if he felt betrayed, but it was the Herald's look of incredulity and disappointment that made him clarify,

-I never did it, though she thought I had. I didn't quite find it acceptable, after all your help. You had proven yourself trustworthy, and I couldn't repay you with that kind of betrayal.

Once again there was only silence. Cullen dared to glance at her just from the corner of his eyes and saw pride and kindness in her own. He looked at her directly and she smiled, spreading a comforting warmth through his chest.

The spell was broken when a second later, Varric began to laugh loudly.

-Well, as Anders used to say, "Put me in a dress and call me a templar!" And here I thought you'd only broken your chains when you turned _against_ Meredith, but come to find out you were yankin' at them for a good long while!- He brought his hand down hard on Cullen's back and almost made him spit out the beer in his mouth. -Good thing you didn't produce that phylactery, Curly; I know a certain Seeker that might've come looking for it if she'd heard about it. Cabot! Another one for the Commander!- he pointed needlessly at Cullen's head.

-No,- he said to the dwarf, signaling to Cabot by waving his hands in the air. The niggling headache had escalated to practically migraine proportions in the last few minutes, and he doubted another beer would help with that. -It's much appreciated, but I have a lot to get done, and I should take my leave for the night.- He rose from his chair and bowed slightly in her direction. -My lady…- He took a second to steal another glance at her eyes, trying briefly to memorize them, and willed them to become his lasting memory once he had fallen asleep after conquering the usual horrors he faced. Typically, he would not have allowed himself that small mercy, but tonight he needed something to bring him peace as he soberly recognized the symptoms of his withdrawal, a good indication that this was going to be another long night for him.

He turned to Hawke and Varric, nodding as a farewell.

-Thank you for the drink.

He was about to cross the floor when Hawke stopped him by firmly grabbing his arm, a frown painted over his lined and fretful features.

-Thank you,- he said softly.

Cullen moved his head almost imperceptibly, and was out of the tavern before anything else could be said. He could never bring himself to enjoy reminiscing about the past, and if he had known the night would go that way, he never would have accepted Varric's invitation.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Perseverance

He tried. Each day and every second he tried, but there were times when he was ready to give up.

This was one of those times.

It was the tenth instance that Cullen had awoken in his bed. This time, he was covered in cold sweat, the sheet below him damp with it, his skin burning up yet his bones frozen within him. The shakes had begun not long before he came back from the tavern and, even if there was no other thing for which to be thankful, he was grateful he had managed to slip away and ride out the worst of his withdrawal alone, without an uncomfortable question having been voiced. His hands tingled, his head ached, and the painful shocks coming in waves were effectively draining him of all strength. They reached a maximum peak that made him grind his teeth and scream in his pillow just to get through it, only to be bent over by dry heaves, eventually even having to vomit in a bucket he had procured before climbing up to bed.

From time to time, he managed to sleep a bit. He decidedly preferred to call it "sleep" instead of "fainting from exhaustion and pain", only to fall from there into his own personal Void that attacked him with all his fears and personal demons, enhanced by the delirium of his fever and the unanswered craving for lyrium. More than once he thought about going down and taking a draught, reaching the limit of his endurance, but every time he surprised himself, managing to extend that barrier even further, realizing he needed to sink lower if he was ever going to soldier through this.

He had the strength. He needed to believe he had it.

After eight hours of agonizing convulsions, incessant fever, nausea and hallucinations, greater men than he would have given up by now… and he was about to join them. At that thought, he rose from his bed, not bothering to towel down his body anymore (after the fourth time, it was useless) and tried to reach the ladder down to his office to end all of this. The box with his lyrium supply was in the desk drawer; he'd left it there earlier that afternoon when he received it as part of the delivery for Skyhold's templars. He was just a few steps away from peace.

 _Maker forgive me_ , he begged and fought to take the first step.

Later Cullen would be grateful it was the first step, and not the third, for otherwise he would have fallen from the high platform into his office, and being in the state he was, he doubted he could have done anything of substance to cushion the fall. Not even his arms responded as they should, and even if they would, he'd have broken more than one bone without a doubt. But instead of down through the hole, he found himself falling to the wooden floorboards, trembling when a particularly unpleasant and incapacitating wave of pain assaulted him. He doubled over and vomited straight onto the boards, the heaves shaking him while his body attempted to expel something that was indeed not inside his empty stomach. He screamed loudly, not sure if it was from the pain of his muscles, the kick he unintentionally gave to his bed that almost broke his foot, or from the way his head had bumped against the floor.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it ended.

For a second, Cullen thought he might be unconscious, his mind taking mercy on him and sedating the pains of his body in favor of rest, shutting itself down in response to the torture. It was the coppery taste in his mouth that alerted him he was still awake. Slowly and tremulously, he moved his hand to his lips and found nothing. Then he stuck his tongue out and touched it gently. When he looked at his fingers, his suspicions were confirmed: They were covered in blood. A part of his mind, the same one that had urged him to be grateful for not falling down the ladder, told him that the tongue was good; no one will see the tongue, just as no one would notice the deep, red scrapes his nails had left in his own skin through the worst of the pain. He could simply take a bath, get dressed, comb his hair, and he would be the same Cullen he always was. No one had to know.

He got up with a groan and crossed his room to the wash basin. He would go to the baths later, but he needed to at least clean the sweat off his chest before he could put on a shirt. Besides, the water might help decrease the fever that typically lasted a few hours after the pain was gone. When he finished cleaning himself, he dressed with the same shirt he had on yesterday, donned a pair of long trousers and his favored boots, and gathered some clean clothes to take with him to the baths.

He first heard it while descending the ladder. That blasted song, that rhythm filled with promises of respite and power. One of a stronger Commander, a more precise warrior, a wiser strategist, a more useful advisor... A better Cullen. He could feel his skin tingling at its drum, his heart synchronizing with it, his blood burning with desire, his whole mind screaming for him to run the few steps to the desk, tear open the box, and let the wonderful, glowing substance flow through his veins, infusing life in its path.

Cullen buried his nails in the palms of his hands, waiting with gritting teeth for the song to die away, but it didn't… If anything it grew stronger, louder, demanding his attention, and in a desperate need to shut it out, he ran through the door, down the battlements and straight to the courtyard.

He stopped once he felt grass under his boots, and a shiver tremored down his spine. The song had quieted, but it was still thrumming in the back of his head. At least he had put enough distance between himself and the lyrium to make the song bearable..., for now. When a second shiver made his skin crawl, he realized he had forgotten his cloak. This was beyond trying to lower his body temperature; he couldn't stay here long if he wanted to stave off a cold.

But he could not stand the idea of going back to his office, near that lyrium… So, steeling himself against the wind, he walked to the main door of the fortress.

The baths were empty, as he had thoroughly expected. It would have been terrible luck if they weren't, considering the hour. The dawn had not yet shone its first light, although it would not take long now. Cullen opened a hatch in the wall that contained the cool water, and it began to pour with vigor into the tub carved in the stone floor. After a second thought, he activated the rune that magically heated the water. Common sense dictated that he shouldn't bathe with hot water while he had a fever, but experience told him that no matter what he did, at least with the methods he'd tried in the past..., this fever would not be going anywhere. Usually, he did not indulge in this kind of luxury, in part because he did not truly trust those contraptions (even when, if asked, Dagna could talk for hours about the safety and advantages of her designs) and also because he normally did not have the spare time to spoil himself, preferring a quick, albeit cold bath to a warmer and slightly longer one. But today he truly needed it. His body felt as though an ogre had performed multiple Orlesian dance steps over him, and at the same time his muscles felt like they were made of solid rock, even in terms of flexibility. The moment his foot touched the water he felt better, more relaxed, and when all his body was submerged, save for his head, he felt like he was melting... It was sheer bliss.

Perhaps he dozed for a moment, for when he awoke the water was slightly chillier, but still held some degree of warmth. Enjoying this break but unable to fully give in, Cullen began to review the errands he had to accomplish that day. After he was done with this bath, he would have a quick breakfast with his companions, and then he could begin his daily chores. Idly, he wondered if Knight-Commander Gregoir had found the time to read that report about the disturbances that had occurred yesterday at the library. Apparently one of the newly-arrived mages, an exiled Tevinter from a noble Family ( _Pavus, was that his name?_ ) had made a scene when he realized most of the books he wanted (or _needed_ , according to him) where not in the Circle's collection, or were strictly forbidden by the Chantry. After a wealth of heated discussion, a few templars had taken him aside to the apprentice quarters and had given him a stern warning, but considering it wasn't his first offence, they left him in the hands of the Knight-Commander to see whether the mage would receive a punishment for his behavior.

In spite that, it wasn't Pavus that had Cullen the most worried, but rather a certain bald elf that had openly admitted to exploring the Fade and befriending more than one spirit. He had consulted with Enchantress Vivienne, and she had told Cullen, though they were rare, other like-minded mages existed and were called "dreamers", or _Somniari_ in the ancient Tevinter tongue, and were (if this was even possible) the most dangerous of mages, due to the fact that they eventually became indifferent to distinguishing between spirits and demons, and refused to catalog any creature of the Fade as the latter, claiming each spirit adapted to its surroundings and, if controlled and treated respectfully, were no more dangerous than any other benevolent spirit. Aside those particular cases, Cullen had, _thank the Maker_ , only one other charge: Apprentice Trevelyan. She had been at the Circle for just six months, and...

For a moment, he couldn't remember what he was meant to report about her, so he used a simple technique he'd devised for when faces and names scrambled together in his mind. He tried to visualize Trevelyan, with her blonde hair pulled back in a bun, barring those two rebellious strands that always found a way to fall over her face; her hazel eyes, and a decisive look that reflected her strong confidence, the same she possessed in all her movements. He tried to see her in his mind's eye, dressed in her blue apprentice robes and in line with the other mages, but somehow he couldn't place her among them... The best he could manage was an image of her in leather armor, a pair of daggers in her hands...

Cullen shook his head forcefully and realized with a cold panic what had just happened. He had confused time and space, his mind convincing him he was still in Kinloch Hold and using the images and personalities of the Inquisitor's companions to shape an intricate fantasy that had him completely immerse in a different reality.

That was it: The final stage of one of the possible side-effects to which lyrium withdrawal led.

Dementia.

He needed to make things right. He either had to go back on the lyrium, or resign himself to madness. Being as it may, there was one thing that was undeniable: He most definitely could not be the Commander of the Inquisition Forces anymore. Not this way, not when one of his delusions could cause his men to suffer or die, or worse, the Inquisition to fail…

With a heavy heart but a steeled resolution, Cullen stepped out of the tub and dried himself, dressing with trepidation to perform his last hours as Commander of the Inquisition.

oOo

It was mid-morning when a fatigued Cullen arrived at the armory. The few hours since his bath had been a new kind of torture. The fever had vanished, but the pain had returned. Not in waves this time, but in excruciating muscle spasms that made him contract his body more times than not, bracing himself with anything in reach to halt a fall to his knees.

Cassandra was inspecting the weapon requisitions as usual and, save for her and two other guards, the armory was empty. He entered, walking straight and with all the composure he could muster, and ordered the two guards to leave him alone with the Seeker. Cassandra began to talk before she ended her inspection.

-Cullen is there something you...- She looked at him then. -Maker! What happened to you?

So it was _that_ obvious then. Well, in a way it was better that she could physically see it. This way, he did not have to tiptoe into his request.

-Cassandra, I've come because I need you to fulfill your promise and find a replacement for me.

Far from the immediate anger he expected, she looked at him with almost clinical detachment.

-And why is that?- She took a sword and held it in the air, testing its balance.

-I think you knew the answer the second you laid eyes on me.- He rubbed his forehead, fearing the explanations he suspected she would force him to give. -Last night, I had another episode. It lasted longer than usual and it ended with...- He had trouble admitting his moment of confusion, and at the same time he could not find the words to express it properly. -I thought I was in the Circle again, back in Ferelden. I was _convinced_ of it!- He sighed, -My mind is playing tricks on me. I'm not reliable any more. I won't risk the Inquisition due to my inability to control this.

-For how long?- was her calm answer. She lowered the sword in her hands to the long table and moved to take up the next one in line.

-What?- For a second he did not comprehend what she meant.

-For how long did you believe you were in Kinloch Hold, and what did you do during that time?- She barely looked at him before taking another sword.

-I... I'm not certain; it could have been only a few moments. I was taking a bath, and I reviewed my duties to myself as if the Inquisitor's mage companions were my charges back in the Circle.

-So you didn't do anything during that moment of confusion? You were just lost in thought?

He did not understand what that had to do with anything, and the apparent disinterest of Cassandra was driving him crazy.

-No, I stayed there like a fool. What's the difference? It was a sign of the onset of dementia. Isn't that enough?

Cassandra lowered the sword in her hands and turned to him. Deep in her eyes, Cullen thought he saw relief, and his confusion grew.

-You are fine, Cullen. It won't be an easy road ahead, but you are heading the right direction.

He could hardly believe his ears.

-WHAT?!

-You heard me. Lyrium withdrawal is a difficult path, but it is also a one way track, if you are not able to withstand it.- At his perplexed expression, she clarified, -If you were falling into dementia, you would not have been able to snap out of it, and it would not have manifested itself as a misperception of time. It would have been a total delirium, Cullen. What happened is only that your _mind_ is exhausted, nothing more. You don't need a replacement.

-You can't be serious! Have you lost your mind?

-You asked for my opinion, and I've given it. Why would you expect it to change?- She crossed her arms in front of her chest as if that would make the statement more final. He made a gesture as though discarding her opinion.

He was about to storm out, but he thought better and tried again.

-I _expect_ you to keep your word. It's relentless! I can't...- His words failed him. How could he explain it better than he already had? If he could just make her understand what he felt, how he was feeling in that exact moment! The mere weight of his armor was a torment, his stomach a complete and utter mess, and his whole body barely kept the tremors under control, the hand squeezing the pommel of his sword turning white under the strain.

-You give yourself too little credit.

 _Maker!_ She was not going to give in easily. Why did this have to be so hard? Maybe if he could make her realize what was at stake, she would accept it.

-If I'm unable to fulfill what vows I kept, then _nothing good_ has come of this!- His voice almost broke. He was begging her, but Cassandra seemed unfazed. He changed his strategy, aiming for her pride. -Would you rather save face than admit...

And then it happened.

If Cullen would have asked himself what was the worst thing that could have happened in that moment, this certainly would have been first on the list. The door had opened, and the Inquisitor was now standing in front of them. Cullen hoped he didn't look as disheartened as he felt, wishing some of his dignity could be saved. _How much did she hear? Does she know?_ A part of him knew she had to know eventually, especially if Cassandra were to replace him, but he wanted to let the Inquisitor know under his own terms, when he did not resemble a vagrant mabari who had been kicked out of several places and into the rain. She looked confused, and her eyes went from Cullen to Cassandra repeatedly.

He could not bear it; he could not face her questions, her judgment… or worse, her pity. He had to get out of there, the sooner the better. He lowered his head in defeat.

That way, he did not have to meet her eyes when he would surely run off like a coward.

-Forgive me,- he muttered as he passed by next to her on his way to the door.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Confessions of a Lyrium Addict

The woman who left the armory was not at all the same one that had entered just a moment before. She had gone there to tell Cassandra they would be leaving tomorrow morning for Crestwood to join Hawke, who had departed quietly at the break of dawn. But once she had seen Cullen and talked briefly to Cassandra, she barely remembered to tell her anything.

Cassandra had asked her to talk to him. Since joining the Inquisition and, even worse, since becoming the Inquisitor, she had had to insert herself into countless conflicts, and usually found it quite annoying that people seemed to burden her with every little problem simply because she was "the Inquisitor". As if that authorized her to solve anything that ever came up in their (and more than a few nobles') lives. This time, however, she was grateful.

The fact that Cullen had not come to her with his problem had her feeling a little disheartened, but she could understand it, in a way. He and Cassandra had agreed on this long before she was in the picture. And even if she could support him in everything he needed (and she hoped she would) she could not evaluate his condition as well as Cassandra could.

Despite all that, she felt terrible for finding out this way. Cullen would surely be ashamed of his addiction, and probably would have needed more time before he let her know more about it, even though he had already confided in her a week ago that he was no longer consuming lyrium.

She remembered that day perfectly. He had summoned her early in the morning. On her walk to his office, she had observed all the templars, as well as those of whom had left the Order, together in the courtyard, standing next to one of Cullen's officers. A dwarven merchant had entered the keep with a cart that shone blue even in bright day, his cargo evident. He had come to drop off the last of the lyrium requisition, some in liquid-form and some more potent, one in its rawest, crystalized form that would be used by the mages to create new mana potions. A small amount of lyrium dust could produce up to fifty vials of the liquid version. Nevertheless, this particular form of it was too strong and powerful, and as such should be manipulated with extreme caution. That was why most of Skyhold was not aware of its existence. The small pouch of lyrium dust was delivered first to one of a small list of prospective candidates (which depended on who was available in that moment) and he handled it under strict vigilance to be processed immediately without delay.

The templars were taking their doses as she walked, some on the very spot where they were delved out, others preferring to retire to their quarters to do so. It was a common sight whenever there were templars, and for a split second she wondered if she should wait until Cullen had the chance to take his before going to talk to him, but she decided against it. If he had summoned her, it was probably because he had already dealt with it beforehand.

She was surprised to find that lyrium was the main topic of their discussion. Cullen was not taking it anymore, even when that decision could possibly kill him. He'd said that he wanted to cut any connection with the Order he had left. He needed the possibility of a new life, and even though it deeply worried her, she could never have refused him. She supported him fully, right there in his office, promising herself she would be watchful of any change in his usual self.

She could not afford risking his life; not for the Inquisition, and not for a more private reason.

Now that moment she feared had come. Cassandra had explained to her that the Commander wanted a replacement, feeling he was unable to perform his duties as before. She had the same conviction the Seeker had. Cullen never gave himself enough credit, too humble to even see his own accomplishments. He was stronger than he believed himself to be, that much was evident to anyone else. But was doubting of himself. He needed someone to reassure him that he was strong enough to fight his addiction, someone to show him just how much he was needed, and how highly he was valued.

While she walked the distance between the armory and his office, she thought about the Chantry and the Order. They knew what they were doing the moment they recruited a future templar (a child of no more than thirteen years, usually) and began training him, knowing that when he would come of age, they would give him the first draught of lyrium, condemning him forever. They knew that poison would bind him to a life of addiction. No more free to decide for themselves unless they were willing to risk death or madness. How could they do that and call themselves holy and righteous with a straight face? She understood the necessity of the templar's abilities, as sometimes it was the only way of stopping a rogue mage, but it was one thing to give it to grown men, and quite another to induce a lifetime of addiction in a mere child. And she did not even want to _think_ about the fact that impressionable boys and girls likely didn't know the true risks of lyrium when they'd joined.

She imagined a young blonde boy playing with a wooden sword in his home courtyard, declaring that one day he would be a powerful templar, and would protect the mages and all Thedas from their magic. Then the image turned to a more mature boy, barely entering adolescence, but already infused with the determination of a grown man. He was saying goodbye to his family, pain and pride in equal measures in his eyes. A templar waiting for him, fully aware of what life as part of the Order would mean for him.

The last image she saw in her mind before walking up the stone steps was a young Cullen, just eighteen years old, during his vigil. He was praying and begging the Maker to give him strength to face his responsibilities, to honor the Order as His servant, and to be able to do whatever it took to keep his charges safe. Then he took a vial, uncorked and brought it to his lips, catching its metallic scent before he could taste it, that simple act making him a slave, a bondservant, an addict… just another tool in the arsenal of the Chantry.

She had reached the upper floor now, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. His door was open and she need only to take a few steps to reach it, but first she needed to calm herself. He did not need her anger nor her pity now; he needed her support, her comprehension. And that, and no less, was what she was going to give him.

oOo

He had lost track of how long he'd been in this position. Bend slightly over his desk, a crease on his forehead, his hands pressing the wood, eyes fixed on the velvet-lined box resting in front of him.

He'd had it since he was eighteen, when each templar was "gifted" their first set. It contained all the necessary tools to prepare their lyrium. They could even store two small vials in it if they needed to transport it. Cullen had once considered it sacred to him. The feeling lyrium left under the skin, in the mind, and throughout the body of all templars once consumed was indescribable and so addictive that it made his heart beat furiously at the simple sight of this box… even after all these months. It had not decreased its intensity one iota. The impulse was there, the desire, the incessant song inside of him screaming that he do it.

And Maker forgive him, he was weak. More than he liked. He had not been able to bear the thought of throwing this sentimental little box away. Why did he keep it around to tempt him? If he was so sure of his willpower, of his strength, he should have disposed of it a long time ago! But no, he had kept it, clinging to that part of his past as if he found it a comfort instead of a heavy burden. He was weak…

And now she knew just how much.

A growl formed deep in his throat as he recalled her eyes when she'd entered the armory. Maker's Breath, the way she had looked at him... In his mind, he saw pity and disgust in her eyes. As if she found him revolting.

His breath came ragged, anger rising by the second. The growl transformed into a battle cry as he took his box in his hands and threw it with all his might against the door, following it with his eyes.

Shockingly, there she was, as if his mind had conjured her to him, merely a single step away from where the box had broken in two. She looked at the door, then to the floor, and finally at him.

-Maker's Breath! I didn't hear you enter. I…- He lowered his eyes to the floor, utterly defeated. -Forgive me.- He raised his eyes a tiny fraction to look at her out of the corner.

She shook her head and took a deep breath.

-Cullen if you need to talk...- Her voice was soothing, soft and warm.

He began to walk around his desk.

-You don't have to...- His treacherous body chose that exact moment to give in to a lyrium dizzy-spell. He doubled over and lost his footing, able to maintain standing only because his hand had caught the corner of the desk. He could not stifle a small whimper mixed with another growl that escaped him. In the second it took him to lower his eyelids again due to the pain, he could see panic in her face. He had not grabbed the desk yet when she was already stepping forward to help him. He signaled her to stop. He did not want her help; it was too humiliating.

-I never meant for this to interfere.

Apparently, she could not stop herself, and she came a few steps closer, bending a little bit as she tried to find his eyes. She looked worried, and her voice cracked slightly when she asked,

-Are you going to be all right?

-Yes...- He sighed, -I don't know.- She needed to be made aware. At this point, she deserved it. Gathering all his strength, he straightened his back and looked at her, pain evident in his words. -You asked what happened to Ferelden's Circle. It was taken over by abominations. The templars… my friends... were slaughtered.

Her brow was furrowed, not in rejection, but in empathy. She looked heartbroken, and that shattered _his_ heart. He turned and walked to the window behind his desk, hiding his face from her.

-I was tortured. They tried to break my mind, and I...- He laughed, but without any trace of humor. -How can you be the same _person_ after that?! …Still I wanted to serve. They sent me to _Kirkwall_. I _trusted_ my Knight Commander, and for _what_? Her fear of mages ended in madness!- As he confessed, his gaze switched from the outside world to the Inquisitor repeatedly, his movements fretting.

He prepared for the next statement, for it was never easy to tell what reaction he would garner. It felt like a personal failure.

-Kirkwall's Circle fell. Innocent people died in the streets. Can't you see why I want _nothing_ to do with that life?- He finally focused on her eyes, almost begging her to understand.

Her brows turned up in comprehension of his meaning.

-Of course I can. I...

Yes, she could understand. And that, he realized all of a sudden, was a mistake, even if he wanted her to.

-Don't! You should be _questioning_ what I've done!- He could not stay still, so he did what he always did when he was concerned. He paced. To the bookshelf and back to the side of his desk where she stood. Back and forth, again and again. -I thought this would be better... That I would regain some control over my life. But these thoughts won't _leave_ me.

He was gritting teeth now.

-How many lives depend on our success?- His hands went to his hair, combing it as he dragged his nails over his scalp. It was of no use; he had his gloves on. He barely felt anything. -I swore myself to this cause...- Cullen was raising his voice now. He knew he was pacing more quickly, slowly losing control. -I _will not_ give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry! I should be _taking it!_

Cullen lost it then, crashing his fist against the bookshelf, and a few books tumbled out and onto the floor. He could feel the wood pressed firmly against his knuckles. This was good, the pain would distract him. He barely breathed those last words again.

-I should be taking it…

His eyes were fixed on the books that had fallen before him so easily, as surely as he had just done, given the smallest shake imaginable… So he didn't see her when she stepped closer to him. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. A soft squeeze, present and reassuring. And then her voice, bringing a little bit of peace to his mind… A melody to his ears…

-This doesn't have to be about the Inquisition. Is this what you want?

He looked up and was surprised to find her nearer than he had presumed. A sweet scent of jasmine reached his nose, as always, when she was near. She was looking at him intensely, and he would not have been able to tear his eyes away from hers, even had he wanted to. And he certainly didn't.

She felt his body relax. Her hand was still resting on his shoulder and, in a surge of boldness, he rested his own over hers, his thumb caressing the back of it. Inwardly, he wished he had thought to remove his gloves earlier. He closed his eyes and exhaled the breath that he had been holding in his lungs since he had noticed her closeness.

-No.- His hand left the bookshelf and fell to his side. The other one slid away from hers when she moved to stand in front of him. -But... These memories have always haunted me... If they become worse, if I cannot endure this...- He was afraid of finishing that sentence.

She stared at him, and her forehead relaxed. A small smile formed on her lips, and with a tenderness that made his heart ache, she rested her hand on his cheek, her eyes urging him to look at her fully.

Once he relented, she said without a trace of doubt,

-You can.

He sighed one more time. Maker! If lyrium did not kill him, she would soon enough with these sorts of sentiments. Panic surged through him when he realized she might be able to hear his heart thumping away in his chest.

-All right.- Her thumb moved almost imperceptibly, caressing his face. He wanted to close his eyes and lean into her gentle touch, but he resisted quietly, internally counting his blessings. She was comforting a friend, helping the Commander of her army through a difficult time. Surely it was only that...

And yet those eyes of hers...

 _Oh Andraste, would it be wrong to dream…?_


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13: A Rift in a Lake

She knew the trip to Crestwood was not going to be easy when she received the message from Harding while she was back in Skyhold, but this was more than she ever would have expected.

They had arrived after 2 days of travel, soaking wet due to an unending rain and already regretting her choice of companions. She had decided this was going to be a ladies' trip, and brought along Sera, Cassandra, and Vivienne with her. Maker, had she been wrong! Honestly, what was she thinking? Sera ceaselessly complained about nobles the entire length of the journey since Skyhold, and Vivienne was incapable of just letting her be. The enchantress seemed to dedicate her days to treating Sera with enough contempt to drive her crazy. Over and over, she ridiculed her by using the most intricate words she could find in her vocabulary, knowing well enough that they would provoke the rogue into threatening her with her bow. Cassandra, who theoretically was going to be the voice of reason in the group, found their fights thoroughly annoying, and therefore chose to speak only enough to voice her displeasure.

-Hey Inky! This is a nice trip, innit! I can smell the damp, yeah? Just... in everything.- She pointed toward Vivienne. –'Specially in her,- she giggled at her own joke, delighted to find yet another way of bothering the mage.

Madam de Fer was on the crux of responding, but the Herald decided enough was enough. They had nearly arrived at the Inquisition camp and she could not enter in good conscience with these two at each other's throats.

-Please, Vivienne, just don't. And Sera, we can smell you too, you know.

-Well, _yeah_ , but I don't stink like that squeezy thing she uses!

-It is called "perfume", my dear savage, though I'm unsurprised by your apparent ignorance. Doubtless the concept of basic hygiene would baffle mere commoners such as yourself.

-That's enough! If I hear another...

The view before their eyes silenced the group immediately. They had just taken a bend in the road and come out from behind a rock face, only to discover a vast, furious lake… And in the middle of it... Was that a...?

-Inquisitor,- Harding was standing in front of her in a second. -Good to see you safe. We've got trouble ahead.

-I'll say,- She mumbled, still staring at the ominous lake. Pointing to its center, she asked warily, -Is that a Rift?

-Yes ma'am. And it gets worse.- She signaled them to follow her. While the three women dispersed to gather more supplies, the scout debriefed her about the situation in the area.

Harding told her Crestwood was the site of a flood ten years ago during the Blight. The Rift in the lake was actually above the old village, where dozens of people had died due to the taint and the unrelenting darkspawn attacks. Those same people were now rising up and attacking a nearby settlement. Nobody was helping them, and Harding's men were too few to offer any substantial aid. In their desperation, the villagers could only hide away from the undead, locking and barricading themselves in their houses. The fields were crawling with walking corpses, and even if they'd decided to leave the people of Crestwood to their luck, they'd have to fight through them to get to the cave where Hawke was waiting.

Their camp was secure for the moment. Apparently, the undead concentrated more on the village than on them, which gave them the option to hold their position while the Inquisitor and the others went ahead to offer aid. She would use the Inquisition camp as a strategic point, where she could advance the attack and also retreat to heal the wounded, if necessary.

Harding suggested they should try to talk with someone in Crestwood about how to reach the Rift in the lake, so after replenishing their potions, they hiked down to the beach in order to take the road leading to the village.

In the sand were footprints coming from the water and spreading in all directions. Most of them looked like they had been made by dragging feet, and more than one piece of tattered clothing was scattered over the terrain.

She knelt and inspected the trace, Sera kneeling down next to her curiously.

-Wot? Are you plannin' on diggin' a tunnel to the Rift?- Cassandra huffed from somewhere behind them.

She ignored the question, pointing to a few particular marks.

-Those ones are recent… -She followed them with a finger until they connected with the nearest road. The same one that led directly to Crestwood. -They're heading to the village. Let's go!

They made their way uphill to the road and found a pair of Wardens fighting a handful of undead that where threatening a villager. Between the six of them, the creatures were defeated in no time. The poor woman ran as fast as she could to what she prayed were safer grounds, and the Wardens stayed long enough to thank her before they took their leave. They were only here because they had received a report about Hawke's friend's whereabouts and were there to capture him and take him to Warden-Commander Clarel for questioning. She played dumb and wished them good luck, cursing them silently for not taking the time to help the people of Crestwood.

Once the Wardens were out of sight, they followed the road to the village, fighting a slew of undead and demons alike.

Even if they had traveled blindfolded, they could have found Crestwood without a problem. The sounds of screams and battle traveled down the road and into their soaking wet ears, forcing them to hasten their steps in order to help.

The village was sealed, a large wooden wall and some stakes by the doors their only defenses besides a couple of posted archers. There were dozens of corpses on the ground near the gates, some of them too close to be safe. The archers were completely exhausted, and when they arrived, they received the Inquisition with the sincerest and most heartbreaking expression of hope she had seen in a long time. She remembered the people of Haven after Corypheus' attack, when she had awoken and stepped out of the tent. These people had the same look in their faces, as if she were a savior sent by the Maker Himself to protect them from evil. She prayed she was not too late to do just that.

The night greeted them with yet more rain. They were staying in Caer Bronach, the new Inquisition keep they had commandeered that afternoon, where Leliana's agents were already planning commercial and information routes. The Highwaymen, although enough to make the fight worth mentioning, were not well organized and attacked sloppily, falling just as easily as they had appeared. The moment she killed the last of the bandits, she raised the Inquisition flag and sent a message to Harding to bring their soldiers to the new fortress.

As Sera had said, her people worked fast. When they were back from closing the Rift, the keep was completely changed. Leliana's agents had come prepared with tents, furniture, weapons and ravens, transforming the almost abandoned keep into a fully-functional Intelligence Center. They had erected pavilions for her and her companions, and as soon as she walked out of the tunnels to let them know the extent of them, they sent in a group to scout the area. Half an hour later, she was holding a complete report of the utilities the Inquisition could provide for those tunnels, and how they should proceed to use them. While a party was prepared to explore the tunnels, an elven soldier named Charter introduced herself and gave her a debriefing of the situation.

The rest of the day was spent looking for lost people. There was a naturalist named Judith that had one man in Crestwood particularly worried. She lived on the farms in the lower lands at Forester Homestead and refused to leave her home to seek refuge in the village. With the Rift closed and the threat of the highwaymen under control, the naturalist was more safe than the man thought, but it was a small price for his peace of mind. Besides, Judith's farm was close to the trail of a lost spy by the name of Butcher. The man was running late, and Charter had asked the Herald to check on him. The rest of the spies were mourning their companion in that precise moment, for Butcher had been ambushed by Red Templars on the south road. His body had been transported back to the keep, and they had made sure he had a proper burial. Luckily, the fate of the naturalist had been better. She had received some attacks, but was completely safe, although she complained about a wyvern that had gotten it in its head to come down to the lands near her to hunt. It had not yet attacked anyone of importance (only highwayman had lost men) but it was only a matter of time.

She did not enjoy killing dragons for the sake of it, but the people in Crestwood had gone through enough without having to deal with it. She culled the creature as the final mission of the day, delivered the liver to Judith as requested, and headed back to Caer Bronach.

She had planned to find Hawke later on that same night, although Vivienne and Cassandra told her it was better to wait until the morning, but she did not want delay any further. As they had wandered the keep beforehand, they came across a game by chance that a handful of raven handlers were playing in secret, high in the keep. The lock on the door had been forced by Sera, and the look on the soldiers' faces when she had walked in was priceless. They probably thought she was going to assign them to the furthest Inquisition settlement she could find, but she only told them they were free to play so long as they didn't neglect their duties and did not lock her out of her own keep. Sera, hearing that, had waited a whole two seconds before joining them with drinks, and considering they could hear her laughter from the lower floors, she did not want to wait until she had too much to drink before going to Hawke.

Now, she was in her pavilion, sitting at her desk and writing a select few urgent messages to her advisors. The worst news by far was the update on Crestwood's mayor. The man had left a letter, confessing he had purposefully flooded the old village, drowning the refugees dying in the tunnels below. She had found the bodies there, and since then she had felt something was not right. She'd sent a search party to recover the remains of the people, and had gathered them along with the others in Old Crestwood to cremate them as Sister Vaughan had asked.

Now she needed to send a message to make sure the mayor was hunted as fast as possible, as well as alerting Leliana of a traitor in their own ranks. Charter was very distressed about it, claiming there was no other way the Red Templars could have known where Butcher was, and how to intercept him. She knew Leliana was not going to like it, and pitied the poor bastard who had dared to betray them. On the other hand, she requested Josephine use her diplomatic contacts to release Miller, a fellow spy of those in the keep that had been captured in Val Chevin, according to her men. By the time she signed those messages, only one more remained.

Though she was exhausted and should be resting, she had to write to Cullen. The whole trip here, and even during the fight to free the people of Crestwood, she hadn't been able to push him far from her thoughts. She knew it was wrong; she needed to concentrate on the task at hand, but it was just not possible. She'd left him in the worst state he had even been in, and although she fully believed in his strength, he had shown her he did not have enough faith in himself to believe he could do it. She wished she had thought about writing him before, but she'd had no idea what to say. Now was no better, but the fact that he was not standing in front of her made things easier.

 _Cullen:_

 _Crestwood proved to be a challenge. We spend the day helping the villagers with an undead infestation (I'm sending a complete report so you can read more about it) and yet in the middle of this mess, I find myself thinking of you. I'm sorry I had to leave you the way I did. I wish I could have stayed and shared some of my strength with you, since you don't seem to trust in your own. But at least trust that it is there, inside you. Believe me… You are the strongest, bravest man I know. You can do this. I know you can._

 _I hope you can count on me to help you through._

 _Y_ _Sincerely,_

 _Evelyn._

She looked down critically at the parchment. The "Y" of the almost "Yours" was too noticeable, but time was running short and she did not want to get up for more paper to rewrite the message. Besides, if she did that, she'd probably change the entire thing, which would lead her to rewrite it again, and so on until she finally decided not to send the letter at all… And she just couldn't do that. Cullen needed all the support she could offer, and she was not going to deny him that. She needed to let him know he could rely on her for anything. She wanted to say more, to explain in some way how she felt about the effect his face and his suffering had on her.

But any other thing she might say to him was too intimate to write, too personal. She couldn't tell Cullen that she had wanted to stay in Skyhold to take him in her arms and hold him through his pain, listen to his fears, and fight his demons at his side. No. The last thing he needed was to be confused, and her confession would only serve to drive him away. That was the opposite reaction for which she was aiming, but she hoped, with time, that he would come to her when in need.

She rolled the parchments into three small rolls and put them into the containers that would be tied to the ravens' legs. When she stepped outside the pavilion and walked to the main camp, she arrived just in time to witness Sera performing a show for everyone.

An Inquisition soldier who couldn't have been more than twenty five years old had balanced an apple on his head, and was standing pale as a ghost in front of the fire. Sera was a good sixty five feet away holding her bow, an arrow already notched in it, one eye closed and the tip of her tongue sticking out of her mouth in concentration.

The man began to visibly shake and Sera looked up, annoyed.

-Oi! Hold still or I'll open a third eye on yer forehead! And don't step back either, or you'll burn your arse.

The man mumbled an apology and shook more acutely. The apple lost its balance and fell from his head, and Sera quickly shot her arrow, hitting it right in the middle. The soldier fell to the floor the second he saw the arrow coming his way, and Sera fell as well, but in a bout of laughter. She was bend over on the floor, holding her stomach as she pointed to the poor man teasingly. Color came back to the man's cheeks until his face was completely red with embarrassment.

The Inquisitor shook her head and watched how his companions moved to help him get up from the floor, only to then freeze in place at the grating sound of Sera's voice:

-Let's have another go!- The soldier noticeably paled in an instant, looking as though he might lose his dinner, and the elf let out another insane giggle.

-All right, Sera, you had your fun. Get your pack and meet me by the gate,- she called out to her, motioning Charter to take the messages before joining the group and heading out to the caves.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Warden Stroud

She had heard stories about the Wardens all her life, tales of brave men and women that dedicated their lives to protect all of Thedas from the threat of darkspawn, and had sworn to do whatever it took to stop the Blight. She had created for herself a certain image of them, and she remembered clearly how King Alistair had not fit into her perceptions at all. Even though he looked like a fairy tale knight in shining armor, the moment anyone met him they realized he was anything but that. Yes, he was a formidable warrior, but his demeanor was so casual and informal that all the noble aspects would crumble in one single chuckle from the man. She had enjoyed that about him when she met him, and she even found him endearing and sweet, but she could never bring herself to associate him with the mighty image of the Grey Wardens.

Blackwall was closest to that idealized vision for her, although there was something about him that did not quite fit the entire description. At times, he seemed too defeated in spirit, as if he didn't value his life outside of the Wardens. It was almost as though he had no other purpose in life, and was determined to prove himself worthy over and over again. Deep down, he lacked the confidence that he clearly tried to reflect with his words. Stroud, on the other, seemed to have been born of the very stories she had heard as a child. Tall and muscular, deep black hair, and a carefully trimmed mustache. Full Heavy Armor with the Grey Warden's sigil on his chest. Proud and honorable... and sneaky, as she could not have predicted.

Hawke had informed her his friend was inside the cave, so naturally she had entered without taking any precautions. But now she was on her side, trying not to make any sudden movements, with a Grey Warden's sword pointed just a foot shy of her back. Some tale that would be, the powerful Inquisitor killed by a potential ally.

-It's just us. I brought the Inquisitor.

Thank the Maker for Hawke. Stroud looked down at her and lowered his sword. Then he bowed and spoke with a thick Orlesian accent.

-My name is Stroud, and I am at your service, Inquisitor.

She nodded, grateful that he trusted her, or more likely, Hawke.

-I'll take all the help I can get. I know the Wardens have troubles of their own. I wonder, though, might those troubles have anything to do with Corypheus?- She was voicing her thoughts to both men, watching Hawke and Stroud alike.

The Warden took a deep breath and, watching the floor, began to relate everything he knew.

oOo

They arrived back at Caer Bronach again for the night. She had scribbled down a few notes while she talked with Stroud earlier. Those ones were not to send to Skyhold; it would be useless to do so now since they were going to head back to the fortress the morning after tomorrow and, considering two days wouldn't change things and her advisors could gain nothing in that time, she didn't think it wise to risk a raven's health with a flight to Skyhold without good reason. Finishing that, she talked to Charter about the guard shifts and their rotations. The area was more secure now than it had been when they arrived, but she wanted to make sure it would remain that way once she was out of the way. She also requested a full report on shifts and basic movements, as well as the discoveries they'd made in the tunnels and the plans they had for them, in order to deliver these to Cullen and Leliana respectively once they were back home. When she took care of those tasks, she finally joined Stroud by the fire.

A few feet away, Hawke and Cassandra were talking more amicably than she would have expected, probably smoothing over the rough edges their old encounters had left them with in order to begin their newfound alliance on the right foot. Vivienne was nowhere to be seen, supposedly already in her tent, not taking too much enjoyment in the soldiers' company. Sera was, of course, in the highest room with the spies in charge of the ravens, probably playing cards and drinking whatever they had left after her last visit.

The moment she came into his sight, Stroud stood up and bowed slightly.

-Inquisitor.

She motioned him to sit again, and did the same once he heeded her request.

-Please, Stroud, you don't have to be so formal.- She extended her hand to him with a smile.- Here, I'm Evelyn Trevelyan. It's a pleasure to meet you.

The Warden chuckled and took her hand, turning it slightly until her palm was facing downward, and kissed it, his lips merely brushing her skin. She was impressed with his refinement. Being the daughter of a noble, she had suffered far too many slobbery kisses to her hand to the point she almost hated the gesture, but Stroud appeared to be exquisitely educated, or had enough experienced with nobility to put most other nobles to shame with a simple gesture. As it was tradition, she bowed her head shortly and smiled at him.

The apparent calm in his features lasted for merely a few seconds longer before an almost literal cloud descended upon his face, darkening his brown eyes. She could only imagine the weight Stroud was bearing on his shoulders. He was a Senior Warden, and as such he should be instructing the young recruits on the ups and downs of their path. Instead, he was being hunted by his superiors and peers (he had not been surprised when she told him about the Wardens they had encountered on the road) and had to watch as all other Wardens fell for the lowest and vilest trick Corypheus could play on them: The false Calling. All the Wardens in Thedas were hearing it, and Stroud was, too. She realized then that Blackwall probably was, as well. And per Warden tradition, they were saying their goodbyes and heading toward Orzammar en masse to die in battle honorably and as their code dictated: _In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice._

She recalled the famous words to mind. The code of the Wardens, their oath… Their doom, as it seemed.

A question she had not had the chance to ask before suddenly flooded back to her memory as the Warden's motto still echoed in her brain and, albeit doubtful, she turned to him. He looked extremely tired, and the pain in his eyes was almost infectious. She decided her curiosity was not worth bringing him more pain, and looked away awkwardly.

-If I can help you with anything, your Worship, please don't feel obligated to restrain yourself out of fear of hurting my feelings.

She was not a person prone to stuttering, but the fact that Stroud had hit the target right in the bullseye was so surprising that for a second she struggled to find the proper words. Eventually, she managed to form a coherent sentence.

-I was wondering how you knew the Calling wasn't genuine.- For some reason she felt like she was prying, as though she was reading someone's diary or eavesdropping on a conversation she should not hear. Honestly, it was as if even the asking itself was too personal for someone she'd just met.

Stroud sighed and shook his head.

-At first, I could not tell for sure. I was certain my time had come.- When she frowned in confusion, he clarified, -The Order would probably kill me for revealing this, but I know you will keep this information to yourself and reveal it only if it's necessary… From the moment we survive the Joining, a Warden is left with a terminal condition. It is not an exact period, more or less thirty years before the Taint claims us and we begin to hear the Calling. When I first heard it, I thought my time had come.- He cast a glance her way then. -I am, after all, a senior Warden and I know my days are coming to a close. I even travelled to Orzammar to meet my end, but due to my need for secrecy, I uncovered rumors of the massive Warden exodus to the Deep Roads and knew something had gone wrong. People talked about _young_ Wardens arriving with heavy hearts to meet their fate, and I knew that was impossible. That was when I realized Corypheus must have had something to do with it.

A thick silence fell between them after he had finished, only the sounds of the still awake soldiers disturbing it. She did not want to ask, but she needed to know.

-So… your Calling could be real?

Stroud nodded solemnly.

-There is no way of telling the two apart, I fear, but in my case it may as well be real. Still, I want to do what I can to help the others before I draw my last breath.- He looked at her and took her hand gently. -And for that opportunity, I will be forever in your debt, my lady.

-Please, don't say that,- she tightened her grip around his hand before he released it, trying to inject confidence into her voice.- The Inquisition is the one indebted to you. You are risking so much by helping us.- She smiled at him then. -You are a noble man, Stroud. I'm grateful that you are on our side.

-Thank you, your Worship.

She frowned, scrunching her nose at the honorific.

-You're not exactly improving in the "drop the formalities" department, Warden Stroud.

The Warden laughed sincerely at that.

-Forgive me, Lady Trevelyan. Old habits die hard, and in Orlais, to cast them aside can result in dangerous consequences.

-Now that I can believe.- She filled two cups and handled one to the Warden. -To dangerous consequences.

Clinking her cup in a toast, he replied,

To unexpected alliances.

oOo

The journey back to Skyhold turned out to be better than she expected. Hawke and Sera had truly bonded, her mischievous nature delighting the mage and his sarcastic humor making her laugh almost constantly, turning them into perfect accomplices, to Vivienne's dismay. It turned out Hawke wasn't particularly a fan of the type of noble that Madame de Fer was part of, so they enjoyed riling her up, and this infuriated her. The Inquisitor of course had to intervene from time to time to even things up, but other than that, the rest of them remained content in their roles as the audience, not drawing attention to themselves. After a particularly irritating joke, nevertheless, she had to ask the tricksters to hold hands in order to give the enchantress a break. It worked beautifully, and after half an hour without another incident, she began to wonder how much she would pay for it later that night.

She was not wrong. The next morning, they woke up to find their bootlaces tied together, knickers mislaid, and saddles turned front to back. Despite the furious demands Vivienne had voiced, she barely chastised them for their jokes. She knew hard times were ahead, and she didn't know when it would be that they would have another opportunity to laugh so sincerely and fervently again. She just did not have the heart to blame them for it.

Once in Skyhold, the group scattered to their usual hangouts, some looking for rest, others food, and most of them just a warm bath. She left Stroud in the hands of a soldier who offered to take him to a guest room; she was just as surprised as Stroud was to find out they actually _had_ a guest room. If she wouldn't have known better, she would have said she had been out for a month, due to observing the changes Skyhold had experienced in the short week she was gone. The main hall had new tables and chairs in every place the scaffolds left free. Most of the work on the ceiling was done, and half of the rear windows were completely restored. The weeds, wooden beams, broken furniture, and rugs remnants were gone, the new braziers installed and the old chandelier repaired and hanging from the main beam. There were even a couple of copper statues that only the Maker knew where they had come from, surrounding a brand new throne, a large chair with six impressive spikes pointing out in different directions and the sigil of the Inquisition on its back. The statues were of her homeland, two Free Marches birds of prey with large beaks pointing straight to the dais.

But what shocked her the most was when she went to her quarters. Up until that point, she had used the bedroom only because Josephine had reserved that part of the keep especially for her, but it was far too big for the small bed and simple desk, but now it was another place entirely. It was evident that Josephine's custom furniture orders had arrived while she was gone, and they had dedicated that time to decorating the entire room. Everything was perfectly positioned, and it had all been chosen with an exquisite attention to detail. It was the most delicate and beautiful decor she had seen, and while it was luxurious, it was evident that Josephine had her own tastes in mind when she had designed it. Nothing was too much; every piece of the decoration and furniture reflected the exact amount of position and power without being too over the top. Well, perhaps maybe the four post bed was a little too much, but considering how comfortable it looked she was hardly the one who was going to complain. The drapes were a beautiful combination of intense purple and soft ivory, and the silken sheets had a delightful pattern that matched perfectly with the rest of the color arrangements. A nice, cozy resting area had been installed in front of the chimney with a study set and a complete library for her own use, surrounded by two balcony exits. But what she adored the most was the little private area set behind a series of wooden screens, where a huge porcelain tub engraved with magic runes to heat and chill the water had already been filled and was waiting for her next to a series of oils and fragrances of her favorite scents.

The Inquisitor spent the next hour taking a well deserved bath and pampering herself as much as she could before finally changing into her usual informal clothes and going out to the courtyard.

She could not fool herself by thinking she was heading anywhere else besides Cullen's office. Though more relaxed since she sent her message, his current state still worried her, and if not for the fact that after such a journey a bath was almost paramount, she would had gone to him the moment she put a single foot inside the keep.

When she went up the battlements, she was surprised to find his door closed and a guard in front of it. She was about to greet her before entering his office when the woman saluted her.

-Inquisitor! Commander Cullen requested not to be disturbed under any circumstances until further notice.- Evelyn looked at the guard with her brow furrowed as if not comprehending. When she did not look back nor offer a reply, the woman began to fidget.- Inquisitor?- she said at last, watching her.

She nodded, mainly to prove that she had heard, and understood what the other told her, but her mind was frantic at this point. Cullen never closed his door or refused to see anyone, not even the day when he had tried to resign. This could not be good… Was he in pain? If that was the case, all the more reason for her to walk in and help him!

But she couldn't, not now; there was no way she could ask the guard to stand down without all Skyhold finding out, and even if she was willing to let the people believe she was a tyrant in order to help him, she was not willing to make him look weak. She watched the sun begin to descend on the horizon. In an hour, the soldiers would be called to have their dinner, and she could wait until then to come to him. The door was probably locked, but that had never been a problem for her. Besides, she could use that time to gather some things she suspected she might need.

As she was walking back down the stairs, she found Cole sitting on the edge of the battlements wall, a worried face looking in the direction of Cullen's office.

-Hurts, burns and sings. It calls him over and over. He tried to shut it out, but the song was inside. Aching. Biting. The lyrium taunts him, mocks his restraint, laughs at his weaknesses.- He looked at her, conflicted. -He doesn't let me help him, but he is afraid. He needs help.

Her heart ached from listening to Cole recount Cullen's suffering.

-I know Cole, I'll help him. As soon as I can. I promise.

Cole looked at her deeply in her eyes. Was he reading her? Then he relaxed and smiled softly. A black cloud surrounded him in a second, and by the time it faded away, so had Cole.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Feverish Night

Skyhold was always filled with people. Even in the middle of the night, one could always find someone roaming through the courtyard or walking the battlements; _especially_ the battlements, if one counted the guards making their rounds. But the number significantly decreased by the time the kitchens served up supper, largely due to the fact that the Inquisition had accrued some marvelous cooks. They could turn the most common and unappealing ingredients into the most addictive delicacies. Even the more refined palates in the keep (meaning Josephine, Vivienne and Dorian) did not complain about it, especially when there were Orlesian frilly cakes for dessert.

The Inquisitor chose that time of the day to sneak out of the main building through the kitchen and into the night, making her way toward Cullen's command post. She had a pouch hanging from her right shoulder, and a covered tray in her left hand. She had never tested her ability to hide in the shadows with a full tray of food before, but there was a first time for everything. Luckily, she had two factors on her side: one, there was one solitary guard around the battlements surrounding Cullen's office, and his rounds took him far away from the door once every thirty seconds; two, she had the element of surprise on her side, for no one expected to see, of all people, the Inquisitor herself sneaking into the Commander's office in the dark of the night.

She huddled in the courtyard for a few minutes to study the guard's movements before daring to take the stairs. When she finally moved, she did it with enough security and dexterity to reach the battlements and the office's door without making a single sound, not from her feet, nor from the tray contents. Sneaking next to the door, she put the tray on the floor and took out her picklock tools, praying to Andraste he did not put the latch on. There were ways of picking past that, of course (that is, besides the old kick in the door) but it would require more time and other tools she hadn't brought along with her, so praying seemed to be the best option. Absently, she wondered if the Maker's Bride would heed her prayer, considering she was asking Her to open a door illicitly, but hopefully her intentions counted, and she knew she had good ones.

A soft click told her she had succeeded. A little push confirmed the latch was not on, and breathing deeply, she retrieved the tray and entered.

Cullen was a lot of things, but messy was not one of them. The man was as methodic as most military men were. He did not possess much, and his compulsion to keep everything in order bordered on obsession. That's why when she entered to find a mess worthy of a qunari victory party, she became seriously worried.

There were papers all over the floor, and an inkwell had shattered over the stones, its contents blackening what looked like half a dozen of Josephine's reports, as the ambassador's neat handwriting was still noticeable in a corner of one of the parchments. There were also some papers tinted in a scarlet blood, next to a different types of shattered glass, evidently the remnants of various wine bottles. Books were scattered about, the tall bookcase half fallen and leaning over the corner of the desk, which had prevented it from reaching the floor.

A light coming from upstairs bathed the whole scene in a soft golden glow. Cullen's fur cloak was lying in the floor next to the door, and she gathered it up after placing the tray on the desk. The moment she rose up again, she heard a choked grunt coming from somewhere above her head. She was not the kind of person who would violate someone's privacy by trespassing into a room uninvited, but this was a situation far from normal, and it required desperate measures. Without even considering what he might have to say about it, she raced up the ladder to his loft bedroom.

When she reached the top, the first thing she noticed was the thrashed bed. The sheets were crumpled over one side, as if he had taken them with him while rolling incessantly on the mattress. They spilled over the opposite side and onto the floor, where she could distinguish the smallest patch of skin ( _was that a hand?_ ) appearing at the end of the bed.

Her heart in her throat, she ran to him, vaguely aware of the crunch of broken glass under her boots, a stain on the wall indicating a bottle had been smashed against it. Without caring if she hurt herself on the shards, she fell to the floor next to his body.

-Cullen!

He was lying on his stomach, his eyelids fluttering, emitting deep choked sounds from time to time and trying to respond in some way. She rolled him until he was on his back and pulled him over her legs, draping his neck over her arm while she brushed a hand through his hair, moving it away from his face. His ragged breaths came with difficulty, and he was burning up, a thick layer of clammy sweat over the length of his body, dark circles beneath his eyes and dried lips.

Cullen opened his eyes with noticeably great effort and looked at her as if she was an apparition. He tried to make a sound, his cracked lips mouthing her name, and his arm twitched a little. She realized he was trying to reach for her, and she took his hand in her own and laid it against her cheek.

-Shhh… I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere.- Her eyes blurred with unshed tears, and it took all her strength not to burst into tears, but she needed to be strong for him. So she held the tears back as best as she could, though a couple of them betrayed her and trailed down her face nevertheless. -Easy, let me help you.

She leaned his back against the side of the bed to check if he could keep himself in a sitting position. Once she was satisfied he was not going to faint, she got up and filled a glass with water from the bedside table, kneeling immediately at his side again. She searched for a small vial in her pouch and, before his eyes, she emptied its contents into the water. Taking his right hand in hers, she wrapped his fingers firmly around the glass.

-Drink this; it will help with the fever.- She was talking softly, trying to soothe him with her voice, to offer him some form of comfort and reassurance that everything would be better soon, that she would not leave him alone. She helped him take a sip of the water, and slowly he drank the whole of it. She smiled weakly, -That's it. You'll be better in no time.- How she wished she could sound more confident, but the reality of seeing such a wonderful, strong man reduced to this was breaking her heart. _Was I wrong when I advised him to resist the lyrium? Have I made a terrible mistake? Did I kill him?_

No, she could not let herself think these thoughts. She needed to believe in him, for the both of them, since he no longer possessed the self-assurance that he could get through this. She refilled the glass halfway and gave it to him again. This time his grip was tighter, and he was able to drink it without her help, but at the last moment his fingers gave way and only her quick reflexes prevented it from falling to the floor.

She rose to her feet again, her eyes darting about the room in search of a wash basin. She found it on the floor in the corner of the room, and it was sheer luck that it was of metal and not porcelain. She filled it and kneeled by Cullen again, only this time she lowered herself to sit right next to him, her back braced against the side of the bed. She hooked her arms beneath his shoulders and hauled him laboriously against her chest. The man tried to resist, but was exhausted and did not have much fight left in him, so finally he rested his back against her chest, his head on her shoulder while she brushed a wet cloth over his face, rinsing it from time to time in the basin, cleaning the sweat and grime from the floor. Subconsciously, she began to hum an old tune that came to mind, a sweet melody she remembered from when she was younger.

He must have dozed off, because a few minutes later she felt his weight pressing fully on her chest. She smiled to herself, noticing that his breathing had become less strained, more stable, and his body seemed to relax as the pain receded slightly, for a time. She knew this wouldn't make the pain disappear. She wasn't even sure whether the health potion could relieve some of his withdrawal symptoms, but at least it seemed to help the pain to a degree enough to reduce his whimpers and the seizing of his muscles, at least in half the instances.

His armor was gnawing at her flesh, both in her arms and her breast, but she did not care. Cullen looked more relaxed and peaceful now, and she would never have moved him only to alleviate an inconsequential discomfort. It was a small price to pay to see him improve. Besides, the warm feeling that having him in her arms brought to her chest was far more intense that any distress his armor could give her. She wished she could hold him like this on other occasions and watch him smile at her, blushing slightly as she caressed his face and looked into his amber eyes. She wished she could tell him how she felt, even if she wasn't entirely sure what her feelings were, quite yet. She wanted him to be happy for once, healthy again, at peace with himself and his life. And she wanted to be the one to help him achieve that.

She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't feel him stir, and she jumped when she felt a hand over hers. Looking down, she saw Cullen watching her, his eyes clearer, a blush that could just as well be due to the lingering fever painting his cheeks. He moved her hand with his until it rested on his chest plate and closed his eyes, frowning slightly. Then he cleared his throat and opened them again, looking straight into hers.

-I... forgive me. You shouldn't...- His voice was hoarse as tried to say more, but she pressed two fingers against his lips.

-Don't. Don't say it. I should have, and I did. When I realized you were in pain, I just couldn't...- Her voice cut off in her throat. In the back of her mind, she registered the feeling of the scar on his lip against her finger before she lowered her hand.

-How did you know?- was all he could manage to ask after a time.

-You've never locked yourself in your room,- she explained, -so when they told me you left orders not to be disturbed, I feared the worst... And Cole confirmed it.

He closed his eyes again and began to come around a bit more, leaving the safety of her arms.

She watched as he tried to stand up, all wobbly legs and ragged breath, immediately lacking enough air for all the effort he was putting in. He managed to stand partially on his feet, leaning on the bed for a few seconds before his legs gave way and he stumble backwards, almost pushing her to the wall. Reaching for him, she grabbed him handily, one arm around his waist, the other holding his hand, his arms about her neck and his weight pushing her down.

-I can do it.

-I know you can, but indulge me.

He tried to free himself from her grasp, but she tightened her grip, refusing to let him go. Suddenly, he made a noise that under better circumstances might have been a bitter chuckle, and allowed her to help him sit on the bed.

-You need to rest, Cullen, but first you need to take your armor off and change your shirt. You can't sleep like this.- She reached for the clasps of his chest plate as if it were the most natural thing to do in the world. -Here, let me help you…

He took her hand in his, stalling the progress of her fingers.

-Please, I can do it.

She looked up to see his gaze fixed on the floor, the color over his face deepening, and this time not due to the fever. She smiled softly and sat on her haunches on the floor in front of him. He did not move an inch, and after a while, she risked a glance at him. He was nervous as he avoided her eyes, although eventually he raised his gaze to her face.

-I appreciate your help, Inquisitor, but I can take it from here.

She was shaking her head before he even finished his dismissal.

-Absolutely not. I'm not leaving you alone, Cullen. You read my letter, didn't you? I _want_ to help you.

-You've done enough...

-No!

He was visibly surprised by her emphatic insistence of her point. She swallowed hard and tried again.

-You'll have to trust me on this. I'm not going to leave you, Cullen. Not this time.- Her hands balled into fists and over her thighs as she stared at him.

He felt his heart melt under her gaze, and he dared to believe again in that hope he'd once entertained, at least for tonight. Without even knowing what he was doing, he raised a hand to tuck a strand of golden hair behind her ear, but in the last second realized it, and instead pushed his own hair back, nodding his acquiescence.

He did at least try to take his armor off by himself. He honestly gave it a fair shot, but his hands were shaking uncontrollably. Whether it was due to the lyrium withdrawal or the effect she had on him was something he would never know. The idea of taking his armor off in front of her filled his clouded mind with no small amount of ideas and fantasies that he deliberately repressed, especially while she was still in the room.

With soft movements, as if she was dealing with a terrified wild animal, she put her hands over his, still on the first clasp, and moved them out of the way, taking charge of the task herself. He could barely control the rhythm of his heart. It pounded so wildly and so loudly that he was sure she must have noticed. His breath came ragged, and he did his best to disguise it by taking long gulps of air from time to time, clutching the bed sheets tightly in his hands. She finished with his chest plate and moved to his pauldrons, and finally his vambraces. When he was sitting in just his shirt, she got up and took the basin in hand, dipped the cloth into the water, and began to rinse his neck for him. If it was even possible, his breathing became yet more difficult. He wanted to tell her he could manage, but his arms refused to respond to him and his tongue seemed to have grown 3 times its normal size, choking off his words.

She was standing in front of him now, and practically his whole line of vision was blocked by her body, leaving him no choice but to look down at her abdomen, clad in her tanned leather clothes. With methodic, confident movements, she leaned closer and pulled his shirt from the back clear over his head. He was now bare chested in front of her, and the only thing in his mind was, _Maker this is not how it was supposed to happen._ His eyes were closed as he silently prayed to his God and His Bride to have control over his own body, fearing a natural reaction due to her proximity and the uncontrollable fantasies that stumbled over one another in his mind, fighting for the honor of being the main protagonist of every thought he had.

She was the most wonderful woman he'd ever met, and now she was here, taking his clothes off and putting her hands over his feverish skin, taking care of him in the most dutiful and sweet manner possible.

It was taking all his self control not to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her against him, a primal desire to feel her body on his, battling with his coherent thoughts that screamed this was not exactly the way he wished to be with her. She was not doing this out of love and desire, but out of compassion, and even though her mere presence, her sweet aroma, and the warmth coming from her body sang to him, he would never dare react upon his instinct.

Deep in thought, he didn't notice her movements traveling closer to his lower stomach, and when he felt the cool cloth rubbing the hem of his trousers, he almost jumped in place, his hand clutching hers a bit more roughly than he had intended.

-I...- He choked, his voice hoarse with desire and exhaustion, -that's enough, for now... Thank you, my Lady.

She smiled and placed the cloth in the basin. She didn't meet his eyes, apparently a little nervous herself. Turning, she went to his wardrobe, pointing to it as she shot him a questioning look. He nodded, and she opened the first drawer, retrieving the first shirt she saw and closing it immediately. She did not need to invade his privacy more than was strictly necessary, and Cullen inwardly smiled at her manners despite the situation they were in. While she walked back to him, she prepared the shirt to slide it over his head, and with great effort he managed to take the clothing from her grasp before she was able to do it. He pulled the shirt on even though every movement had his muscles crying out in pain, and his heartrate increased as if he was running at full speed.

With his head still inside the shirt he heard a low voice speak to him softly.

-Evey.

He passed his head through the neck of the shirt and stared at her, profoundly confused. She was looking at the floor, and only when she saw his hands drop into his lap did she raise her eyes to him.

-You keep calling me Inquisitor, or my Lady... Call me Evey. That's what my family calls me.

Cullen felt his throat constrict, his pulse pounding hard in his neck. She looked apprehensive, as if she feared her request would be too bold. Unable to do otherwise, his hand raised up and gently took hold of one of hers. He wanted to place it against his chest, but he realized she would detect his heart rate and be aware of the effect she had on him then, or, more likely, she'd believe his condition was worsening and worry all the more. So, he just held it and caressed the back of her hand with his thumb a few times in indecision.

-I have no words to thank you for this, Evey. You didn't have to help me, and yet...

-I wanted to,- she interrupted him. For a few fleeting seconds, they remained frozen in that moment, as if neither of them wanted it to end. Then she smiled, and her whole demeanor changed to a more casual one. -Do you think you could eat something? I brought you some dinner.

He was honestly touched by her caring nature. Apparently she had thought of everything, and even though he didn't feel particularly hungry, his stomach seemed to awaken with the offer. Before he could answer her, a loud growl from within had answered for him. She laughed and said something about not wanting to know how long he'd gone without a meal, and then she went downstairs for a minute, only to climb back up with a tray filled with, to his surprise, _both_ their dinners.

Evey had brought broth for him in a big, specially designed cup that explained how she had managed to bring it to his office, and then his room, without spilling a single drop. Then she had procured a couple of steaks with some choice vegetables for both of them, and even a frilly cake for him. No detail was overlooked.

He drank all the broth and managed to swallow a few pieces of steak, but his stomach was feeling a bit uneasy and he didn't want to end up sick again. Unfortunately, he had humiliated himself enough for a lifetime. After dinner, she took the tray with the remnants of their improvised dinner and placed it on the bedside table.

He couldn't have been more moved by her concern for his wellbeing, and were he in better shape, his mind perhaps more clear, he would have thought readily of ways for repay her for all she was doing for him.

When she came back to his side, she knelt on the floor again.

-Lay down; you need to rest. Here,- she searched for something in her pouch and gave him a small vial. -it's a mild sedative potion. It will help you to relax.

At a nod, he took it without hesitation, and with her help laid down tentatively in his bed. Before the Fade took him, he felt the bedding cover his body, more than just the single sheet he had used before.

As he attempted to ask where she had found something clean to cover him up, he drifted swiftly to sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16: Walk of Shame, Dreams of Desire

Evelyn Trevelyan had never cared for what people thought of her. That was a crucial component of her personality, and defined her in a number of aspects. Of course, it had brought her some trouble over the years, especially growing up as a noble, but it had also given her peace of mind, which most people wary of what others might say lacked.

Despite all that, tonight she was compelled to make an exception, not so much for herself, but for the Inquisition and for Cullen. She knew he would wake up mortified about what had happened, and if word spread through Skyhold that she had spent the night in his chambers, he might never be able to look at her again. So, she had left an hour after he had fallen asleep. That way, she may at least be sure that the worst was over and he would be able to rest easier. Nevertheless, she left an extra healing potion on his bedside table, just in case the fever came back.

Avoiding the guards outside his office had been easy. Maybe too easy, and if it wasn't so convenient for her she may have remarked to the Commander about it. Perhaps she still would, depending on how he fared in the morning.

She decided she would use the bridge leading to the rotunda. That route ensured she would be able to enter the main building without having to cut through the courtyard. Solas did not sleep there now, anyway (although he had when they'd first arrived at Skyhold) and there was little possibility he was still there. And even if he was, she knew gossip would not be spreading from his lips.

When she reached the wooden door, she saw no light beneath it and breathed a sigh of relief. The Maker had smiled on her. Though the elf enjoyed spending long hours studying books or the puzzling shards they had found on their journeys, tonight he had evidently passed them over in favor of his favorite place: The Fade.

The door was open, and only a simple nudge swung it on its creaky hinges, the circular rotunda echoing the screeching sound that in any other room may have been less than noticeable, but in here, it reverberated throughout Solas' study, the library, and up to the rookery where the crows began to complain in harsh caws that added to the general uproar. _Makers' breath, at this rate, all Skyhold will know of my intrusion_. She waited until the echoes died away, escaping through the walls, and the crows fell back into silence before she took another step inside. She was fairly certain the birds were disturbed by any sound, even the ones the old building made by itself every night, but just in case anyone thought their cries were out of the ordinary and decided it was worth investigating, she moved on tiptoe from there on.

She didn't make it to the end of the rotunda. Almost as if it was on purpose (and she was sure it had been) a voice sounded when she was exactly in the middle of the room, next to Solas' desk.

-The walk of shame? From the Inquisitor? How exquisite.

Upstairs, the crows fluttered their wings abruptly, but thankfully they did not caw this time. Evelyn dropped her head for a moment in defeat. _Of course it's him. Who else? This is just perfect,_ her mind complained sarcastically. She looked up the library and found her Tevinter friend leaning over the railing with a grin as wide as his face looking down on her. She put her hands on her waist, trying to look defiant, and opened her mouth to speak, but he raised his hands, motioning her to stop.

-Shhh, some are sleeping,- he pointed above his head at the crows. -Wait for me?- Before she could reply, he disappeared from view, and a few seconds later she heard steps descending the stairs. Once he was at the same level, he walked to her side with the smuggest look she had ever seen him wear, and he wore it as dashingly as he wore everything else.

-Look what the cat dragged in! And she still has some feathers left,- he said while untangling a black feather from her hair that must have fallen from the cages when his voice startled the birds.

She grunted and looked at him with her eyes half lidded, barely repressing a smile.

-What are you doing here at this hour, Dorian?

-Oh, nothing in particular. Just waiting to witness a scandal in the making. And look! I found one!- he eyed to her body from head to toe, his grin widening, if that was even possible.

-It's not what you think,- she started lamely.

-Oh! And the clichés continue! This is too good to be true.- If it wasn't for the fact that he was trying to keep his voice low in order to not annoy the crows, she might have thought he was mimicking a storyteller narrating a play in a public theater. His arms open, he crossed one foot over the other, as in the forth position of ballet. He just needed to bow at the end of it, and she would clap in turn. All of this made her smile despite the situation.

-Do I really look like I've been doing what you think?- She took a step back and spread her arms wide as well, showing him her facets.

Dorian stood straight and regarded her carefully, one hand raised to his mouth in pensive thought. He was serious, as if he was cautiously considering her question. All of a sudden, one of his brows raised almost by itself, and that sly grin appeared again.

-That depends on what your preferences are, my dear.- He stepped closer and leaned over her shoulder to whisper in her ear.- By the way, you scraped your knee, you naughty girl!

His voice sent a shiver down her spine. He had a lovely voice, one that could make a woman blush just by reading the Chant of Light. _Just like Cullen's_. She shook her head inwardly at that thought. If she thought of Cullen right now, she might _actually_ blush, and that would look even more suspicious.

Then she registered his words. _I scraped my knee?_ She looked down and saw what he had meant. Her trousers were ragged at the knee, and blood had stained the cloth and her skin. A miracle stopped her before she answered truthfully, _"it must have happened when I knelt in the floor."_ Yeah, no, _that_ would only give him the wrong idea. Not that he didn't already _have_ the wrong idea in mind. Instead, she chose to cross her arms and look at him with a raised eyebrow.

Dorian laughed, which caused the crows to flutter their wings again, along with the subsequent rain of loosened feathers. Then he shook his head in defeat, but still with that cocky smile adorning his features.

-I'll admit, if you were truly coming back from a tryst, you probably would be a bit more relaxed.- He paused as if considering his next words, and while wiggling his brows and deepening his voice, added, -and walking a great deal funnier.

She was about to scream his name at being so scandalized before she decided against it, and instead put on what she hoped would be her best smoldering face. She raised her hands to his chest and dragged them slowly to his shoulders, one over his bare olive skin, the other over shining leather, and whispered,

-You know I could _never_ cheat on you, Dorian.

She knew he would take it as it was intended, yet more of their fruitless teasing. After his reunion with his father, she was acutely aware of his orientation, and he had asked her once in the library if she wanted him to desist with the flirting after what she had learned. She had surprised him, telling him he shouldn't dare stop, and in that moment, he'd known she would accept him no matter what, that she was probably the first person who loved him without conditions his entire life, even with the flirting. That had brought them together more than they were before, and it raised more gossip as well, but of course neither of them cared. The people who knew them were aware it was all a game, and the ones that did not know were not important enough to correct.

Dorian came closer and rested his hands on her waist.

-Sassy, beautiful, intelligent _and_ of noble birth. If I were an exemplary son, I'd take you as my wife and make my father's dreams come true!- He sighed then, as if he was contemplating a tragedy.

-The world is not ready for a child with both our good looks combined, Dorian.

-Ha! In that you are right, my dear; too much beauty for the world to stand. Besides,- he leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose, - _you_ could not keep up with me.- He winked at this before releasing her.

Evelyn smiled warmly. She loved this friend so much.

She was going to reply, but an unexpected yawn prevented her. After that, she stretched her body, tiptoeing as if she wanted to touch the ceiling itself. When she fell back onto her heels, she walked passed him and said,

-I'm going to bed.

- _Whose_?- was the last thing she heard after she opened the door to the main hall. A low chuckle followed after, just before she closed it again.

~oOo~

Cullen woke up before sunrise, as usual. He felt himself coming back to the world around him and remained like that for a while, not opening his eyes. The morning chill was entering his room through a hole in the roof, and he smelled the dew in the air. He was feeling better. Clinically, he looked for the now familiar symptoms after a night fighting his withdrawal. His neck felt stiff, as if he had slept with his head hovering over the pillow instead of resting in it. His body was slightly damp, but much less than usual from his past fevers. His muscles ached there, where the lyrium abstinence had played with them, clenching them and pricking needles of pain over and over again. His head hurt, but only a little and he felt, all things considered, more rested than he usually did after a night spent like that.

Then, as if on cue, a lingering jasmine scent floated to him from the side of his bed, and it hit him. She had been there, taking care of him, nursing him back to health... Sponge bathing him... _Maker!_

He sat up quickly, opening his eyes in a blind panic, removing the covers hastily and half expecting to find her sitting next to him on the floor as he had left her before drifting off to the Fade.

She wasn't there.

He was alone, yet her presence still accompanied him, somehow. He could still feel her, as perfect and palpable as it all was, last night. He looked around at his surroundings and gasped in surprise. The shattered wine bottle was not there, nor the stain on the wall, both cleaned as if they had never been there. But he knew for a _fact_ that yesterday afternoon, frustrated and without being able to escape in the least bit by attempting to get drunk, he had thrown half a bottle at the wall with the same fierceness as he had tossed his lyrium kit, all those days ago.

He remembered he had awoken the day before with the nagging suspicion of a nightmarish day to come. His head had felt numb, and his body ached all over, the song of the lyrium relentless in his mind. He had tried to fight it, putting on his armor and facing the day and his work as stoically as he could, not even caring to make the bed before going down to his office. But he had failed, and after his rage had reached a dangerous level, and the lyrium desire had grown to a degree he feared, he had given the order to not be disturbed, deciding to face whatever this blighted addiction was going to throw in his path.

But in the middle of the worst of it, when Cullen was lying on the floor exhausted and defeated, he had heard her… felt her… She was rocking his body forward and back, whispering and humming, a goddess in his eyes, the answer to all his prayers. Even through the fever, he had felt at peace, and if he was going to succumb to lyrium, he was happy he could see her face before going to the Maker's side. She was the only thing that mattered, and with her voice and her gentle caresses, he had let himself surrender to what he had believed was his last moment.

When he woke up, still in her arms, he had thought he was delusional again. He had watched her cradle him, her golden hair falling over her shoulders and onto his own, her lips barely moving to the rhythm of her song, far more lovely than the persistence of the lyrium's, her eyes nearly shut, eyelashes barely caressing her lower lids, the faintest trace of eyeliner combining with a soft dark color on her eyelid. And that scent that spoke only of her, that jasmine perfume which always surrounded her, hypnotizing him. If it was a hair, body soap, or rather the result of a perfume, he did not know, and frankly did not care. It had become her signature, so much so that he could almost catch its notes just below the grime and blood she was coated with when she came back from a mission.

Engrossed in that sight, he raised his hand to his forehead where hers had laid, and took it to his chest, reveling in the feeling of her skin. She had done more than he ever hoped. Never in his adult life had someone cared so much for him as she had, yesterday. For once, in longer than he could remember, his dreams had been peaceful, beautiful… and painfully impossible.

He had dreamed of her. The situation was somewhat similar, but much more enticing. He was, as before, sitting on his bed as she stood in front of him. She had taken his shirt out, but instead of averting her gaze and procuring a wet cloth to clean him, she had looked at him, a blazing fire in her eyes, and had explored the length of his chest with her fingertips while humming her approval. He in turn had lain his hands on her waist, drawing circles with his thumbs until he hooked the hem of her jerkin. Feeling this, she had raised both her arms for him to take it off, leaving a free path for his hands. His dreams, spurred with the residues of fever, had summoned the form and tact of her body against his in bed, of her weight pressed over him, lips on his, of her hair in his hands, her breasts giving in to his caresses, of her moans as he showed her how much he needed her.

Maker, it had been glorious.

But now those memories, mixed with his dreams, tasted bittersweet. He knew it was impossible, even when his mind screamed that no matter how gentle her nature was, what she did meant _something_.

Cullen stood up and took his shirt off, then dipped the cloth in the water of his still full wash basin. _Clean water_ , he thought. She must have changed it after he fell asleep. He cleaned himself and, once satisfied, at least until he could go and take a proper bath, he went to his wardrobe to retrieve a new shirt.

There, waiting for him, was a note.

 _Cullen,_

 _I left after you fell asleep to guard you from gossip._

 _I hope you feel better once you wake up. If not, please let me know._

 _Yours,_

 _Evey_

His heart hastened with those last two words. Cullen closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment to dream once more. He knew he shouldn't, but he could not help it if he wanted to keep his sanity intact. There was no denying it now; he was lost without her, and she made him feel as he'd never felt before… He knew she was the most important thing in his life. In his mind, he could almost hear her again. _I'm not going to leave you..., I'm here now._ And then he imagined her lips forming that single, solitary word in his ear.

 _Yours._

He took the message in hand and went to his bedside table. There, inside the first drawer, wrinkled for all the times he had re read it, was the letter she had sent from Crestwood. Reverently, he left the new one there, inwardly chastising himself for being so foolish, naïve, and childish. But he didn't have the heart to dispose of them. They were his new treasures, the drawer as dear to him as his lyrium box had once been.

With a heavy sigh, he closed the drawer, and with it, all his fantasies and desires. This was a new day, and while he could let his dreams unleash themselves in the Fade, this was reality and he had to face it as such. She would never be his. But now, at least he held the memories of her touch for himself.

And that was far more valuable to him than anything had ever been before.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Griffon Wing Keep

-Oh, will you stop it?- Dorian was beginning to grow tired of Cullen's somber attitude. The man in front of him raised his head from where it rested on his joined fists, a typical position while playing chess, one that usually spoke of the amount of concentration his opponent was putting into the game.

But today it was different. Cullen was losing like he never had before. It was almost too easy to take him down, and Dorian had been avoiding doing so in order to give him an opportunity to clear his mind. But it appeared the stubborn man had decided to ruin his day.

He looked back at Dorian with surprise.

-I'm afraid I don't follow; what did I do?- Poor bastard, he really had no idea how transparent he was.

Dorian took a piece from the board and moved it carefully, enjoying the other man's obliviousness.

-She will be fine. She always is.

Cullen looked at him even more surprised than before, and almost immediately tried to feigned innocence.

-If you are referring to the Inquisitor, I'm sure you are right, but I fail to see the connection between her and whatever I did that bothered you.

-That's funny. I don't know if I should feel sorry for your poor performance in feigning disinterest, or to set you alight for insulting my intelligence.

Cullen, who was now placing his piece back on the board after a particularly bad move without even noticing his error, raised his eyes to him and was about to answer when Dorian took the black knight and, in one simple move, ended the game.

-There, you see?- He gestured at the board with both hands as if that clarified everything. -You were never _this_ bad and, even though I would love to think so, I doubt you are so enamored by my incredible looks that you can't concentrate.

Cullen looked at the board as if for the first time. He did not understand how he had lost, but he had to admit his heart was not in the game. Lately his mind was in a lot of places but where it was supposed to be. Between that night with Evelyn, her travels to the Western Approach, and the gossip he had overheard, he could not focus on much else.

He felt the mage's gaze on him and his blood boiled momentarily. The rumors were all about him. And her. Soldiers, servants, and nobles alike were talking about the night before her departure, when Dorian and the Inquisitor had locked themselves in his room and had not come out until morning to begin her journey west. More than one tongue had wagged about a sweet embrace between the two before she went to her rooms to gather her things, and others more daring even affirmed they had seen them in a heated goodbye kiss, the mage's hand on her backside, squeezing possessively.

The reality was that she _had_ been in Dorian's room that night. Beyond that Cullen could not say more, but hearing those things made him enraged, distraught, and jealous simultaneously. Especially considering the last conversation he'd had with her after the night she looked after him.

They had been in the War Room discussing the next mission, and had received a report from Knight Captain Rylen after they deployed him and a group of their forces to The Western Approach due to the Inquisitor's information about the Grey Warden forces marching to that area. Cullen's second in command had confirmed it, and they were discussing how the Inquisitor would join Harding and Rylen there to establish a foothold. After the details of the mission were settled, Josephine and Leliana had left the room, leaving them to be alone at last. When the Inquisitor had turned to leave, he had taken her arm, regretting the touch immediately at her surprised look.

-Please, I... I need to talk to you,- he'd cleared his throat, so close to calling her by name, but thought better of it at the last second, -Inquisitor.

She smiled in that way that made his heart race.

-Evey, remember?

He cleared his throat yet again, trying to force the words out from their nervous cage.

-Right, Evey.- He said her name softly, as if it was a frightened animal. Then he looked at her and, through his anxieties, tried to explain himself. -That's precisely what I want to talk you about. Rather... that night.

She had simply looked at him silently, giving him time to collect his thoughts. He began to talk to the floor, unable to utter the words if he was watching her eyes.

-I know you said you wanted to do it, but you didn't have to... And yet you did.- He swallowed hard, his mouth feeling like it was swollen. -Even though I wished you had not seen me like that...- He looked at her, practically exposing his heart to her, at least as much as he dared to. -I'm glad you were there. I...

For the span of a breath, Cullen almost told her that he had thought those were his last moments, and he had been thankful that she was with him. He felt panicked when he realized how close he had been to saying it and ruining everything, so he searched desperately in his mind for that speech he had prepared that had inexplicably vanished from his thoughts.

-You helped me more than you know.

She was about to reply, and he hurried to finish first. He needed to say everything, and if she said something he would not have the courage to do it.

-I will never be able to thank you enough or repay you as I should. My only hope is that, despite how poorly I'm expressing it, you see how much I appreciate what you did for me.

She smiled again and took a step forward. Her hands were mere inches from his own, and she looked like she was about to take them into hers when the door opened.

-Inquisitor, Master Dennet is requesting your presence at the stables. That dracolisk will not let anyone near the stall next to him to ready your horse. Apparently, the creature is not pleased that you did not choose him.

Cullen was fond of Josephine, but in that precise moment he wished she was in some diplomatic journey far away from Skyhold so she could not have interrupted them.

The Inquisitor had glanced at him apologetically and went after her.

It wasn't until that afternoon that Cullen had stolen a moment to himself, and had begun to hear the gossip about the Inquisitor and Dorian's night together.

He had been resting with his elbows against the ramparts outside his office, something not too common of him. Usually he chose to rest inside while reading a good book, but today he had needed the air. Or that's what he said to himself, anyway. Deep down, he wanted to be outside looking at the exact road the Inquisitor had taken hours before, as if by that alone he could be closer to her, guarding her path.

He had been deep in thought when a pair of recruits had passed behind him, talking as if he wasn't there. That on its own was strange, but he later assumed that what they were talking about, being "juicy gossip" as it was, had them distracted, at least enough to ignore their superior officer as they walked right behind him.

-Have you heard about the Inquisitor and the Tevinter Mage?- _That_ had gotten Cullen's attention.

-What of them?- the other one asked with too much eagerness.

-Well, _apparently_ , she spent the night in his quarters! Nobody saw her leave until this morning. Davis said he heard the most enticing sounds coming from under the door in the middle of his second shift!

-Do you think he used magic with her? I bet he did.

-To make her moan the way I've been told, he probably did. Who would have thought our Inquisitor was kinky enough to bed a powerful magister!

-Maybe she has a thing for mages. Do you think she might bed the elf next?- That level of disrespect for her and the tone of lewdness in the man, along with the effect this information had on him, made Cullen stand to his full height, grabbing the men with one hand on each of their shoulders. In other circumstances, if they hadn't crossed a line in the way they talked about Evelyn, the look of utter panic in the faces of the soldiers might have been enough.

But Cullen's blood was boiling, and as a result the two men spent the rest of the week on forced jobs.

Nevertheless, no punishment could be more severe than the one Cullen was suffering. When he heard the rumor spreading throughout all Skyhold, even from the most respectable people's mouths, his soul shattered. And if that was not enough, it had made him feel more foolish than he had ever felt. The mere fact that he had hoped she shared his feelings, at least a little, made him extremely cross with himself, his mind calling him an idiot and worse for believing so.

After that he had avoided the mage at all costs, but today Dorian had challenged him to their weekly match, and refusing him for the third time would have meant coming up with more excuses, and he did not have enough inventiveness to think of one good enough.

He sighed.

-It's been three weeks, and there has been no news,- he said almost to himself.

Dorian heard him, regardless.

-Don't fret too much over it. We will hear from her soon. She is probably saving a toddler from being eaten alive by an archdemon, or something similar.

He sounded so confident, so careless that Cullen's anger came to surface once again.

-I'm surprised you, _of all people_ , are so relaxed about it.

The emphasis in his bitter statement piqued the mage's curiosity. He watched Cullen's body language, and realized the man was boiling with barely restrained raged. A vein in his neck had swollen, and his jaw was tense. At first, he had no idea what in the Void was wrong with the Commander, but then it hit him. Since the night Evelyn had been in his room and her subsequent departure, he had heard _a plethora_ of rumors about their "activities" while they were together. There was a particularly imaginative one about him taking her savagely in his alcove back at the library moments before they went to his room to spend the night in blessed ecstasy. Nonsense, of course, but he never expected Cullen to pay attention to such things.

 _This will be interesting._

-Why me, of all people?- he said as if he didn't understand. The man in front of him seemed to realize he had said more than he should have, and tried to leave the whole thing behind. He asked if the mage was up to another game and began to reset the board even before he had an answer, eyes fixed on the pieces.

Dorian laughed.

-The Commander of the Inquisition heeding gossips, _tsk, tsk, tsk_. -Cullen looked quite ashamed, but did not make eye contact. Despite all Dorian was able to see, there was something else below the surface _. Jealousy perhaps?_ He planned on finding out. -I admit, my nights are lonelier and colder since she is gone.

Cullen tensed immeasurably.

 _Splendid! Let's see how far I can take this._

 _-_ But I find solace in thinking about her return. I must say, her body is something worth praising; you can lose yourself in those curves, I tell you...- He laughed suddenly at the way Cullen's jaw tensed even more. -Well, not _you,_ but you know what I mean.- Dorian looked at him then, wiggling his dark brows in the same way he had done when he found Evey sneaking back to her room, just three weeks ago. -And then there is that mouth of hers. Maker, the things she can do with it!

Cullen's hands were gripping both sides of the table now, his knuckles white with lack of blood due to the pressure of his hold. Dorian could hear his teeth grinding from where he was sitting, and it was obvious how distressed he was by the movements of the muscles in his body, straining as if he was about to jump right for Dorian's throat. He was reaching his breaking point, and even though it may be detrimental to his health, he could not stop the words from coming out of his mouth. This was far too entertaining.

He tried one last thing, the proverbial cherry on the cake.

-And the sounds that come from her in the throes of passion could make any man's knees give way. The way she clenches...

- _Enough!_ \- Cullen's voice was harsher and louder than he intended it to be. _How dare he?_ Dorian was not only gloating about his damn fortune, but he was talking about her intimately, referring to her as some kind of sexual toy that he could use as he pleased, rather than the most perfect and marvelous being in Thedas. A woman like that was meant to be worshipped, not used! Cullen was infuriated with him, and at the same time, he wanted to _be_ him, to feel her in _his_ arms, to hear those sounds for himself, provoking them. Maker, he wanted to ravish her, but not driven only by lust... That was the worst part of it all. His heart was breaking with the images of her writhing under Dorian's body, laying in his arms.

He was doomed.

Then the most inexplicable thing happened. Well, thinking clearly it wasn't so unexpected coming from Dorian, but Cullen certainly did not see it coming. The mage began to laugh and shook his head as if mocking him.

The Commander looked at him furiously and got up abruptly, knocking his chair and several pieces off the board when he bumped the table with his knees. He was ready to either burst out of there or punch Dorian until he fell from his chair. Maybe even both. But then the mage raised his hands in surrender and stopped laughing.

-Please, sit, you are making a scene; people will _talk_.- The last word was said in an scandalous tone, and though that made Cullen fume even further, he looked around and realized it was true. Most of the people in the gardens were looking in their direction, and at the sight of an ex templar standing in front of a sitting, powerful mage, hands closed in fists at his sides, his body stiff with anger and a mess around them, raised a whisper that began to grow by the second.

Cullen took a deep breath and sat down again. It would be better to wait a few minutes to calm suspicion, and then he would be out of there. The moment he took his place in front of Dorian, the man smiled and began to explain,

-Calm down, my dear, pouty faced friend. There is nothing between us.

Cullen raised a brow, obviously not believing his words, but Dorian doubled down.

-I've never been interested in her, nor in _any_ woman for that matter.- The other brow joined its companion high on Cullen's forehead. -Don't get me wrong; women are fine creatures. Evelyn, for instance, is amazing above all others, of which I'm sure you are well aware. They're just... not for me.- He grinned at the confused man in front of him. Cullen was looking at him as if he had grown another head.- Honestly, my friend, I'm hurt that you forgot about my proposition in the Frostback Mountains.

Cullen remembered. Dorian had teased him when he found him naked with the Inquisitor, asking him if he wanted to take her place with him in bed. At the time, Cullen had taken his words as a joke and nothing more. He had not assigned it any importance, not in the situation they were in. After that day, he had never thought about it again, and the fact that the gossip about the mage and Evelyn had done anything but diminish, had made him forget about the incident as a provocation and nothing more. But now a lot of it made sense. In a minute, dozens of Dorian's remarks came to his mind supporting this new revelation. _He was... Maker's breath, but... how?_ He had spent the night with her; he did not deny that, but then... This was a mess!

Dorian got up from his chair while Cullen was still deep in thought. When the Commander made no attempt to greet him, the mage snapped his fingers in front of his face, making him jump in his seat. He smiled charmingly and bowed in front of him. When he was at the lowest point, he raised his eyes to Cullen, and with a wicked grin told him,

-I'll let you think about that for a while.- He winked and then was gone.

In the rookery, Leliana extended her arm to receive one of her crows. The bird was exhausted, and had a small parchment inside the container attached to its foot. She caressed the crow's feathers and put him in a cage where food and water awaited. Then she unfolded the message and read it.

 _Inquisition's flag hoisted in Griffon Wing Keep. Inquisitor awaits army to deploy to Western Approach for Adamant Fortress assault._

 _KC Rylen._

Leliana smiled to herself, a sense of pride flooding her at realization that Trevelyan had done it again. Leaving express orders that the messenger was to be taken care of thoroughly, she descended the staircase to find Josephine and Cullen and share the news.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18: On The Road to Meet You

The journey to the Western Approach was taking so long that Cullen honestly wondered whether he would lose his mind before they even had a chance to arrive. He was solely responsible for personally leading the Inquisition's army to the fortress walls, naturally, as opposed to Leliana, who traveled independently to arrive earlier with the siege equipment and building specifications ready to go. Because they were only two hundred men strong (half of the army remained in Skyhold to avoid being caught out in the event of a surprise attack if Corypheus' forces invaded the stronghold while they were gone), they had the stamina and resources to travel faster than they had when they'd crossed the Frostback Mountains.

It wasn't nearly fast enough for Cullen, though.

When Leliana had handed him Rylen's message, he had at first hoped it was from the Inquisitor, and his uneasiness for her wellbeing had not decreased upon reading it. Granted, she had given the order herself to deploy the army to the Western Approach, but the brief missive had not mentioned how she and her companions had fared in the battle to reclaim Griffon Wing Keep. He knew her well, though, and was certain she had not taken any of his men with her. Her propensity to watch out for the Inquisition's soldiers sometimes verged on obsession. Cullen knew she still felt guilty about the men and women they'd lost at Haven, and she often dedicated long hours to praying for the protection of the rest of their souls. No, she would not risk more death; no more than her own.

Maker, if her inner circle was not as stubborn as she, he wondered if Evey would push for the option of working alone, charging against foes with only her daggers to defend her. She probably would have, but she couldn't. Her friends would never leave her to accomplish this all alone, not while they still drew breath. For that at least, Cullen could be thankful.

Be that as it may, he could not argue with the results. Even if it had been, as he had no doubt it was, only Varric, Iron Bull, Solas, and herself that had assaulted the keep, they had managed to stand victorious. How unscathed they had come out of it was something he still had to see. For the time being, however, and for four more days according to his calculations, he would have to wait.

While he was idly thinking about the night shifts a horse came to his line of sight on his right.

-'Ow long will we stay 'ere? I gettin' sand up my arse crack!- As if this statement needed clarification, Sera fidget in the saddle while shoving her hand in the back of her pants, grunting in discomfort.

 _Maker's breath!_ He had no idea how the Inquisitor could stand her sometimes. Cullen had nothing against her; in fact, when the journey had begun, he had been happy to have her along as a distraction. Most of her banter with Blackwall was funny, and it kept the soldiers in a good mood, but as the days went by, the rogue became more restless..., and certainly more bored. She had tried to combat that boredom by getting on Vivienne's nerves, and for a while that had worked swimmingly. Until the morning the whole camp was awoken by several hysterical screams coming from three separate tents, one of which had been Sera's and Blackwall's.

Cullen remembered he had been awake, but had yet to rise and put on his armor. The weather was harsh in Southwestern Orlais, and the more they advanced in the direction of the Western Approach, the more they suffered from the incessant heat. Therefore, he had delayed the moment when he had no other option but to cover himself in a thick layer of metal that retained so much heat inside that it made his flesh roast and his temperature rise a considerable number of degrees. When the screams had started, he had taken his sword in his hands and run, dressed only in his trousers and boots, to find Sera in a mix of panic and anger, cursing like a madman in Cole's direction, demanding that the boy stay away from her.

Blackwall was next to her, doubled over and laughing at her, and in consequence gaining more than one kick and punch, not to mention a colorful variety of names that Sera had probably heard in the seediest corners of Thedas, which she had decided suited the man perfectly, in that moment.

For a while, Cullen and most of the soldiers were confused, and looked from Sera to Blackwall to Cole without knowing what was going on. Then, little by little as the boy came near them, everyone began to back away from him as if he carried a plague.

When the rogue stepped closer, Cullen was able to see that he was carrying some sort of creature in his arms... And a truly disgusting and twisted creature that had been.

-Is that a... a _snake_?- The Commander had asked, knowing perfectly well the level of stupidity his question had achieved. The thing had legs, for Andraste's sake! But aside from that and the curious color of its scales, it appeared… pretty much like an average snake. Wait. Were those _pincers_?

-It used to be, now it doesn't know what it is anymore. So it's sad.- Cole was looking at it as though it was some adorable little lamb, and was cradling it in an attempt at consolation and comfort. All of a sudden he looked up, beaming.- She's a mother!

And then it hit him, a conversation Sera had that very same afternoon with Vivienne.

-Checked your knapsack recently, Vivvy?- Sera had glanced at her viciously.

The enchanter answered almost as if she was bored.

-Hmm? Oh yes, of course. Although, I was rather well stocked with that particular shade of viper. So I had it sent back.

The rogue almost choked. She looked back at Vivienne with badly concealed panic.

-Sent... sent it back?- she stammered nervously.

The mage from Ostwick looked so pleased with herself that her face was practically about to split in half, her grin was so large.

-Indeed. It should make its way to you at some point, my dear.- Sera began to look everywhere around her, searching for the creature that, in her mind, was hidden in all places at once.- I was most concerned that it might have difficulty in this terrain, so I gave it legs. Six of them.

- _That's_ not... You're making fun, right?!- She searched for someone in the vicinity who might agree with her theory that the mage was in fact bluffing, but no one subscribed to this. Vivienne looked especially pleased for it, and tried to made the best of the situation. The game had been turned against Sera, and the enchantress was enjoying it like crazy.

-Tell me, Sera, do you sleep with your mouth open? I should avoid that, darling. It was quite heavy with eggs. _Skitter, skitter!_

After that, Sera had been antsy all day. No one could even come near her without her jumping in place, and once she realized she was safe, she would discharge a whole litany of insults to whomever had taken her by surprise. Vivienne, on the other hand, had been so relaxed that anyone could have told you she was having the best day of her life. She smiled constantly, and even answered kindly to anyone who spoke to her, be it the Commander, a member of the Inner Circle, a new recruit, or even Cole, for whom she held a sincere and open distaste. For a while it had been entertaining, but eventually it became annoying and Cullen sincerely regretted not bringing Cassandra with them. The Inquisitor had said she'd helped mediate when the four of them went to Crestwood, but alas, someone needed to stay in Skyhold and keep an eye on the remaining troops. Even though Blackwall may had been a perfect candidate, considering he was a magnificent warrior as well as a competent strategist according to the Inquisitor's reports and performance during training, Cullen did not know the Grey Warden _that_ well to fully trust the decisions someone in his position would have to take. So the Seeker had begrudgingly accepted her charge and had stayed in the fortress to make sure the Commander's duty was taken care of while he and his first were absent.

He pondered Sera's question before answering it.

-Four more days on the road until we reach Griffon Wings Keep,- he sighed. -After that, Maker knows.

-Four more _days_? Like, sleeping _outside_?- She was still a little shaken from the episode with that creature, and the fact that Vivienne kept looking at her in a highly amused, gloating fashion did not do much to reassure her. As far as Cullen knew, the woman had transformed the snake into its original form and the reptile was still in Cole's possession, sleeping comfortably within his clothes, warm as, according to him, she and her "little ones" liked.

-What's the matter, Sera?- Dorian was quite entertained by torturing the rogue since they'd found Vivienne's "gift" for her. -Afraid our little friend will crawl back into your tent at night?

-Shut it, or I'll send it crawling through your knickers!- Anyone who saw Sera now could guess she was getting nervous and jittery again, shooting the spirit boy more than one uneasy glance.

-Oh, there's already a snake in there, Sera, and I'm afraid the tightness of these trousers don't leave much room for another.

-Whatever! Up your ass, then!- Sera was so anxious, she had not thought about just _who_ she was talking to when she decided she would say _those_ particular words.

The change in Dorian's face was immediate. He looked pleased beyond measure and began to smile devilishly. The snarky and sly remark was almost pouring out of him already. He looked back at Sera and began answering her before Cullen could stop him.

- _Actually_...

-Maker's Breath, please don't.

Dorian pouted at Cullen like a child who had been caught before he could perform the greatest prank ever.

-Spoilsport.

Cullen ignored him and called for one of his men. A moment later, the order to stop and begin preparations to make camp was traveling from mouth to mouth all over the convoy.

Most of the soldiers began setting the tents in a careful disposition, rows after rows of woven roofs aligning one after the other, the clamor of working men sounding to him while he was exploring the terrain with half a dozen men. Dorian and Vivienne were with him, placing wards along the camp's perimeter. It would not prevent an attack, not while they were so visible, but they would help if anyone tried to catch them off guard.

The rest of the camp was preparing small fires at regular distances, and a large one in the middle, were dinner would be cooked once the hunters came back with their kills.

Dinner was nowhere near being ready, but a few soldiers who had finished their chores were assembling around each other in small groups; most of them in the opposite direction of the fires; the last thing they needed was to get warmer. The temperature of course dropped at nights in the desert, but they had only just stopped their march and the laborious setup of camp, and even still, the nights were never too cold, or at least not cool enough. They all still needed to sleep with as few clothes as they could to combat the heat.

Despite the weather, they looked pleased with the distance they had covered during the day, and water skins were being passed hand to hand while they chatted amicably. The younger recruits were already gathering in small circles, which soon became sparring rings where they would place friendly bets against one another, and tried to prove their worth.

Cullen dedicated a few moments to contemplate his surroundings.

The precision and efficiency of his men pleased him and filled him with pride. Most of them had arrived in Skyhold with little to no knowledge of how to be even a basic warrior, let alone a soldier… Yet there they were, working together and sparring like longtime friends, teaching each other moves and tactics, talking about their lives and coexisting in the most trying of environments. Of course there were some quarrels from time to time, petty things that either worked themselves out or sometimes required Cullen's intervention, but to expect those to just disappear was being unrealistic. Besides, a fight or two sometimes relaxed the tensions within an army.

What surprised Cullen the most was the fact that no matter where he looked, he saw the distinguished soldiers, ex templars, and mages interacting as if there had never been a single confrontation between the factions. They were talking and even _laughing_ together in perfect harmony, which was something he wished all of Thedas could learned from.

With that, his mind slowly led him to her once again. All of them had learned from the Herald to be tolerant, to see the other for who he was and not for what they believed them to be. Her own group was so eclectic that it was difficult to believe they could coexist, all discriminations (or most of them) put aside to fight a common enemy. By accepting such variety of characters in her inner circle, she had unknowingly served as an example for all of her people, himself included. She was without a doubt an inspiring, magnificent woman.

He sighed, trying to put her aside in his mind in order to concentrate on his duties, and went to the corner of the camp where the inner circle had pitched their tents to assemble his own. Most people used to find it shocking when they discovered the Commander of the Inquisition personally taking on such a minor task, but he didn't think it necessary to order his men to do lesser assignments when he could just as well do it himself. Doing so would be the first steps toward despotism. A Commander needed to be just and firm, but also humble enough to realize his men were at the service of the army, and not himself. So he usually took on this kind of task alone, even when it took him twice the time because he was constantly interrupted by someone offering his or her help.

While he was busy with his tent, he could hear a conversation occurring between Cole and Blackwall. The boy was becoming curious of life as a human being, and though Cullen thought that some part of Cole was always going to give him the chills, as the days went by on their journey and he witnessed the innocence he possessed, he began to understand why Evey had such a soft spot for the young spirit.

The fair haired boy was leaning near Blackwall, peering at his jaw closely. The Warden looked a little uncomfortable, but for the time being was allowing the rogue his inspection. When Cole spoke again, the man almost jumped in place.

-How do you get the hair on your face?- His hand was mere inches away from Blackwall's chin, but apparently he did not dare to touch it, and by the look on the man's face, that was a wise decision.

The Warden rolled his eyes and huffed a lungful of air from his lips, which made Cole step back a pace.

-Look, ask Varric. He seems to have adopted you.

-He doesn't have hair on his face.- Once again, he leaned closer and bent his head to look below the man's chin. -Is it a mask?- _Was he trying to find the seams of a mask?!_

Blackwall seemed to grow both tired and restless with his inspection.

-No, it's a beard.- He took the boy gently by the shoulders and looked directly into his eyes, as if explaining himself to a toddler. -Look, if you were any other lad your age, I'd tell you that one day you'll probably grow one too… Except I don't know if spirits that become boys get beards.

Cole frowned a little, but then smiled faintly when an idea came to him.

-I could try.

Blackwall removed his hands from the boy's shoulders and looked defeated.

-Right. You go do that, then. Good luck. Have fun,- he shooed the boy with a dismissive hand. Cole looked around and immediately focused his attention on something else. This time it was the turn of a group of soldiers talking nearby.

When Blackwall passed behind him, grumbling disgruntledly, Cullen was still chuckling over his conversation with the spirit while he secured the last of the guy lines.

Once everything was ready, he began to unbuckle his armor. While they were at camp and alert, there was little necessity of this precaution, and with the weather as it was, all this confinement was becoming oppressive. Finally, he was dressed only in his boots, breeches and undershirt, and he felt he could breathe easily. Then, dutifully, as his training had taught him since he was a boy of thirteen, he began to tend to his gear. First, he searched for any dull edges on his sword before he sharpened it with a stone, but only a little considering it was not necessary. Still, the task was part of his ritual, and almost daily he had to honed it, at least rubbing the whetstone twice over the blade's edge to feel he was prepared for anything. After that, he concentrated on his armor, methodically checking for any cracks, dry leathers or loosened clasps.

He was cleaning the final part of his chest piece when a young soldier approached him.

-Commander, ser, your dinner.- The man was new in the Inquisition and had not overcome the innate fear of his superior, yet. He liked that his men respected him, in fact he encouraged it, but he was not a fan or this particular attitude.

The boy was looking at him as if the Commander was going to eat _him_ instead of the meat being offered up on in his dinner plate, and Cullen tried to ease him by smiling warmly.

-Thank you, you didn't have to bother. Go have yours.

The boy made a clumsy bow and retreated swiftly.

A few hours after dinner, way past time when the sun had set on the horizon, the camp was growing quieter. Most men had retreated to their bedrolls, leaving only a few chatting by the embers, trying to get a degree warmer once the temperature had fallen considerably after the sun was gone. Only a few fires remained burning to give off enough light to move safely between the tents.

The rest of his men had taken positions on the camp's borders, guarding their companions while they slept. Cullen had organized four shifts, relieving the men on guard once every two hours, something he had the privilege of doing now that he had men to spare. Tonight, they'd sleep a little longer than they usually did, normally waking at dawn, merely six hours after they went to sleep. He knew they were making great time, despite his eagerness to reach the keep, and that meant he could indulge them a little for morale's sake. Sometimes it was preferable to allow small concessions, rather than to face dissent among the troops. Besides, the Inquisitor had secured the keep even before they began their journey, and she was safely waiting for them before venturing forward into yet another danger.

Or so he hoped…

He watched as one by one the inner circle and the army abandoned the outdoors to seek refuge in their tents, where soon the low rumble of snores could be heard. Annoying as that might be, the sounds still invited him to follow their example, and he fought to stay awake, planning their route for the next day and going through reports and tactic propositions to discuss with the Inquisitor for when they led an attack on Adamant Fortress. As a rule, he never slept more than his own men could, and on rare occasions he allowed himself to have the same hours of rest than those that didn't have guard duty all night. This was not one of those occasions.

After the first guard shift had finished, he surrendered to his tired eyes and decided to call it a night.

He entered his tent, removed his boots and clothes, leaving him only in his smallclothes, and laid down on his warm bedroll. As soon as his head came to a rest on the bundle of covers playing the role of his pillow, he fell asleep. In his lasts seconds before slipping into the Fade, he thought this may be one of those rare nights when his nightmares would not bother him.

He was wrong.

Maker, he was wrong…


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19: She Can't Stay Still

Cullen had calculated four more days of travel until they reached the keep, and that probably would have been the case if not for the gloomy atmosphere that had spread through the army. Conveniently enough, that made them move more quickly towards their destination, all jokes, laughs, and misfits forgotten, the little idle talks silenced. Any troupe movement that did not involve advancing in the desired direction completely ceased, only small groups changing course to check for possible dangers while the rest kept progressing. It was growing oppressive and had most soldiers on edge, the sullen feeling infecting even the most upbeat man.

It had its origins in Cullen, and even though he did not think about that fact consciously, he did have the nagging sensation that this was his fault.

It had all started the night before last, when he woke up from a dream completely soaked in sweat and panting as if he had been running for hours. He had no idea of what he had dreamed, only that it had not been pleasant and had left him with intense feelings of hopelessness and loss. Cullen had tried his best to keep it to himself, but as the day went on, he found himself trapped in something so close to despair that he began to worry. The fact that he could not place what had caused it made no improvements to the situation, either. It was infuriating, really. He could feel it just sitting there, hidden within his mind, practically haunting his every step, threatening to snap if he simply tried to move on and forget about it. And so, under the attentive watch of his men, he had ridden his horse in complete silence, wrapped in an invisible rain cloud and trying with all his might to remember what had shaken him so much while he was in the Fade.

But it was useless. Whatever had caused his unease had no intention to make itself known, and though he normally would have left it alone, he had the niggling sensation that he had to know this time.

His men had witnessed it quietly, but for some reason the Inner Circle had spent most of that day trying to engage him in small talk. They would change subjects constantly, trying to find one that would suit Cullen and bring him out of his shell..., all to no avail. At one point, he even had the keen suspicion that they had taken it as a personal challenge, each of them playing their best hand to make the Commander react to their words.

Blackwall had tried to pique his attention by talking about fighting techniques throughout Thedas, beginning his account with a long monologue that the bearded warrior was sure would made the Commander snap out of his state. When the warden failed, Sera tried to make him feel uncomfortable (and admittedly succeeded) by describing an illicit tryst between a female mage and an ex templar traveling with them, parroting a myriad of embarrassing sounds and phrases that, according to her, had come from one of their tents the night before. It was not the best tactic, to be honest. In any other circumstance, that would have been enough to send Cullen into a blushing stutter, especially when Sera grew ever louder in her detailed description, causing all nearby soldiers to turn and see him riding closely beside the vulgar rogue. So it came as no surprise that he didn't answer to her with anything more than a sneering grunt to make his discomfort known.

After that mercifully came to a close, it was apparently Dorian's turn, whom talked about Solas' and Iron Bull's propensity to play chess without the board, using only their minds to remember the position of all the pieces. The mage then tried to tempt him into doing the same, challenging his ability to focus even more than their games usually required. Of them all, Dorian was the only one to achieve the longest answer, as well as the most positive one, when Cullen looked at him with an almost serene face again, and told him, " _Perhaps another time,_ " only to return to the exact position he had been in seconds before, lost deep in thought and frowning in consternation at the horizon.

Cole did not move to interject at all. As far as he could tell, when Dorian had asked the boy to position his horse next to Cullen, he began mumbling something intensively to himself, having one of those episodes of his in which he rambled quietly and left the others looking at him with their mouths hanging slightly open.

Finally, Vivienne made her own unique attempt, employing the rather underhanded tactic of aiming to hit him in his pride. Any good commander worth his salt should be concerned with his army's morale, she had said, rekindling their spirits if something caused it to drop to _this_ inexcusable state. Previously, all the others had received only monosyllables or short sentences when necessary that would leave no place to continue the conversation, but Vivienne had sharpened her weapon carefully, cornering him so that he was forced to answer, and she would have succeeded had a group of scouts not chosen that exact moment to report back from their reconnaissance mission. That gave Cullen the perfect excuse to give the enchantress his politest bow and a firm, "Excuse me, Madam de Fer, I am needed elsewhere by my men," which left her completely infuriated at the Commander's lack of attention, but gave her no room to keep bothering him in the future.

With the Inner Circle's abject failure, everyone seemed to come to the realization that their Commander was not in a talkative mood, and resignedly left him to his meditations.

When the night came, his mood had not improved in the slightest, but by then he had made sure to perform his duties as normally as humanly possible, arranging all the things he needed before retiring to his cot before dinner. He, of course, did not fell asleep within the confines of his tent, and he even popped back out at one point to let his men know that he was available should any problem arise. Still, he did not want to spend time in the company of others, the nature of the elusive dream the night prior still irritating him to seemingly no end.

He spent his time sitting in his bedroll, reading reports and calculating the route for the next day, and that was when he suddenly realized that they had travelled twenty miles beyond his calculations from the previous evening. The efficiency of the distance they'd covered was impressive, but worrying. It had been less than forty eight hours ago when he had decided to let the men lie in two more hours than they were scheduled to as a reward for the excellent time they were making in their journey, and without even noticing it, he had pushed them into a forced step all day long in this insufferable heat. Even if they fell into their former rhythm, they would arrive at Griffon Wing by noon hour. A small part of him was exhilarated by the idea of reaching their destination so soon, but his conscience was plaguing him. Cullen had acted in a fashion he'd sworn to himself that he would avoid at any cost, even if the circumstances allowed it.

Embarrassed for his behavior he went outside to take a look at the troupes. The moment he stepped out of his tent, he noted the eerily silence of the camp. Looking around, he found most of his men had retired already, even though the dinner was served merely an hour and a half ago. There were no talks around a fire, no friendly sparring or animated laughter. The only sounds were the soft breathing and light snores of sleeping soldiers, lulling the remaining sentries and troops that had not gone to sleep yet into a semi conscious state which made them stagger where they stood, nodding their heads where they sat until they gave up and slipped off as well.

Cullen cursed himself inwardly. His men were unnecessarily exhausted and it was all his doing. He rubbed his right palm through his hair, ruffling his loose curls, trying to calm the guilt he felt when a gentle voice abruptly spoke at his side.

- _Abusive, tyrannical despot. I should have realized what I was doing._ Guilt, embarrassment, humiliation, remorse. _How could I let myself be so careless?_

Cole was standing next to him, mumbling his thoughts and feelings so acutely that he felt a chill run down his spine. He sighed.

-Maker, they must all resent me.

-No, they don't. They are worried about you. They want to help, but don't know how.- The strange, ghostly boy turned to look at him, his expression revealing that he was also confused by it, whilst also somehow piercing his soul. - _How_ can they help?

Cullen didn't know how best to answer him, nor _what_ that answer might very well be. In a fruitless attempt to say something, he once again tried to remember his dream and what had cause his uneasiness. This accomplished nothing, but the spirit by his side spoke nonetheless:

-Fighting, fleeing, alone and cast into darkness… Blood and pain, suffering and despair. It lurks, it looks, tries to wound without touching. It's _not_ me, but something… worse…

Cullen saw flashes in his mind's eye of what may have been his elusive dream (nightmare was more like it) triggered by the boy's words… But he saw nothing more clarifying than what Cole had said. Boots running, swords clashing, teeth biting flesh, and a dark night witnessing it all. Blood flowing, voices moaning in pain, fear assaulting someone, a mind that it was not his own, but just as well could have been by the way he was feeling it all.

He shook his head as if trying to erase those images and looked at Cole again. The boy seemed to be ready to drop another litany of his personal perception onto him, so Cullen decided he should stop him lest he unintentionally riled him up due to the frustration he had built up throughout the day.

-I should go to sleep now, and so should you...- He then wondered if the spirit even slept at all, and felt a trifle awkward under his frank scrutiny. Clearing his throat, he mumbled belatedly, - That is... if you sleep at all... I mean.

-Good night, Commander- the boy said before quite literally disappearing into the night. Inwardly, Cullen thanked him for ceasing in his insightful ramblings.

The next morning, Cullen tried his best to at least appear more relaxed and transmit a modicum of serenity to his men. He wanted to amend his mistake, so that was why, against his deepest wishes, he had the army fall into their previous rhythm and pace. As predicted, they saw the outline of the keep at around noon.

The sight of Griffon Wing sent a wave of cheerful energy through the army, and the former merry atmosphere was back in a heartbeat. That was her influence, "the Inquisitor's holy aura," as Varric often referred to it. She instilled them with confidence and bravery, all of them willing to sacrifice their lives if need be, but making damn sure it would cost the enemy more than they had bargained for.

His heart was beating as fast as was physically possible without having a stroke, and by the time they reached the gate to the keep, he was having trouble breathing in his armor. Not that the intense heat was of any help.

But it was doomed to get worse for him as his horse stopped near the entrance, a trail of blood lighting his path.

It was then that Cullen struggled in earnest to get air into his lungs. His heartbeat had changed from a joyous tempo, to a distressful battering in the shadow of a second. He registered so many scenarios and images all at once. The tracks of horse hooves in the ground made it irregular, the blood spattering over it, far too much to his liking. The dirt in the air signaled that whomever had been wounded had arrived not long before them, and the disquieting image of a badly covered dragon's head laid in the vicinity of the now open gate.

Cullen passed under the threshold, simultaneously trying to calm his nerves yet failing miserably. In the back of his mind, he noted a couple of panicked, whispering voices talking at him, the Inner Circle as fearful as he was and obviously suspecting the worst, but he was not capable of uttering a single word in response. His barely lingering templar senses aided him in identifying the smell in the air that stubbornly crawled into his nose was the characteristic, unmistakable odor of lyrium and magic..., and there was a lot of it.

He followed the blood trail inside the keep, all his soldiers not a step behind him, silent as the grave. The macabre path disappeared a few steps in, leaving only tracks of feet on the ground, replacing the horse's hooves as another signal that something serious had happened. The tracks were everywhere, and he couldn't place a single destination where they could have taken the wounded.

He dismounted and gave the reins to someone. Was it a stable boy or just someone whom happened to be there? He had no idea, and right now he couldn't care less. In a second, a captain was beside him and greeting the entire army. He heard the words, but his mind could not register them as he began looking for someone who could explain what had happened from firsthand experience, suspecting and even willing to wager that the Inquisitor was behind that commotion at the entrance.

That's when his eyes fell upon The Iron Bull leaning against a well in the middle of the courtyard, talking with his band of mercenaries, the Chargers.

The moment he fixed his gaze upon him, Bull raised an arm with a large mug in his direction.

-Cullen! How's it goin'?

-What in the Maker's Flaming Bride happened here?- In the state of mind he was currently drowning in, he had not realized yet that Bull was too calm to be grieving a lost companion.

-Oh, you should've seen it! It was beautiful!- He seemed absent, as if recalling a treasured memory. -That little gurgle before it spat fire? And that _roar_. What I wouldn't give to roar like that! The way the ground shook when it landed. The smell of the fires burning... _Taarsidath an halsaam!_ \- He laughed out loud and gulped the last contents of his mug before smashing it on the ground victoriously. -Ha! Great fight!

Cullen was losing what little patience he had left. If Bull had been wearing a shirt, he would have grabbed it to force him in close, but considering the giant was always bare chested, he simply leaned against his expansive torso, looking up into his eyes while trying to control his voice as he seethed between his teeth.

-Where. Is. The. _Inquisitor_?- he paused between words, intent on making the qunari understand the gravity of his seriousness by enunciating every single syllable clearly.

It wasn't Bull who answered, though. Another voice, raspier and sharper in quality spoke up behind him.

-She's alive, Curly. Solas is in there patching her up. That lizard there,- he pointed toward the head at the gate ,-punched her good with its head and wounded her with one of those horns. Made a nasty gash in her leg. Chuckles used some magic to slow the bleeding.- He dried his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, sweat and blood staining the already filthy fabric.- It would be a great story, if I weren't too tired at the moment to write it down.

The Commander felt two things at the same time. First was relief, as if his soul had returned to his body, and he could feel the air entering his lungs again. The second was anger. He knew he should not blame her companions for her actions, he was aware she could be impossible to handle at times, too stubborn to listen to reason, but he could not stand the knowledge that she was seriously wounded and had been in real danger purely because they probably were incapable of convincing her to take more men with them, or to at least wait until reinforcements arrived. He was now giving his back to Bull and looking at Varric in oppressive silence.

When the facts the dwarf had revealed were finally registered in his mind, he tried to speak, but Blackwall beat him to it.

-You mean that blood by the gate is _hers_?- At Varric's nod, he pressed on, -She bled out until you got here? Why didn't he heal her _before_ that?

The ginger dwarf looked taken aback by this question, and with a heavy sigh he pointed to a doorway behind him.

-Look, she's out of danger now. It'd be better if you talked to her directly. Maybe she'll listen for a change.

At this, Varric walked right past them and up to Bull.

-And hey, do I have to tell you _again_ that, as a humble writer, I have _way_ too much imagination for you to just announce that you're gonna _pleasure_ yourself while thinking about that lizard? I don't care how "respectfully" you do it; those images will haunt me more than the statues in the Kirkwall Gallows coming to life!

-Hey now, if we share a tent later,- Bull commented wryly with a wink of his one available eye, -you won't have to _imagine_ a thing, Varric.

Shaking his head in dismay, the dwarf turned to Commander Cullen and sighed,

-Someone up there hates me. Not sure who, but I must have pissed them off somewhere down the line.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20: Not in The Best Shape for This.

Cullen, Dorian, and Blackwall entered her room all at once, stumbling against one another while trying to pass through the doorway at the same time. She chuckled a little, and the mere jostle made her flinch.

Once they had been safe, Solas had done his best to close the wound, and she had to admit that it had looked really good, but the fact that he did so without any magic and that they crossed practically the entire desert to reach the Keep before he could properly treat the wound meant she would now feel pain at the slightest movement she made for a few days. Even the little tremor of her upper body when she laughed at her companions' silly entrance made her leg move almost imperceptibly, but rewarded her still with a stab of pain that seared through the closed gash and up her leg to her hip. She hissed when it happened, and the elf leaning next to her put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. She looked at him and realized he was still worried, and felt unnecessarily impotent with her situation. His jaw was tense and he avoided her gaze, looking instead at her leg as if he was analyzing his work, but she knew better.

They had talked, or rather she had listened while he lectured her for her careless disregard. She knew Solas was right; she should have warned him about what was happening, or at least she should have taken more bandages and balms just in case, but she hadn't, and therefore she had listened to him apologetically, knowing she deserved his anger. Solas on the other hand had been furious, but he had not taken anything out on her, but he didn't extend the same courtesy to himself. He felt she had been extremely foolish, but at the same time he blamed himself for not paying attention to the tiny details that would have warned him without her having to tell him what was going on. But alas, when he finally found out what she had done it was too late, and the proof of his mistake would mark her skin forever.

She placed her hand on top of his while still on her shoulder.

-I'm sorry, it was my fault. Please don't make it worse by blaming yourself.- That was the moment the three other men came to stand beside her bed after their less than graceful entrance.

Solas' face changed from the stern, concerned expression to his usual distant self. He stood up, taking his hand off her shoulder and spoke in a calm and reserved voice.

-We'll have to leave it open for a while before we can cover it. That way, the balm will have time to work.

-Ma serannas, ma falon.

Solas smiled at her elvish.

-Your accent is improving, my friend.- He turned to look at the men behind him, waiting. -Don't let her get up for any reason.- From outside, a muffled voice, Sera's apparently, was talking more loudly by the second, clearly wanting to enter the room.- I will tell the others about this before they all try to swarm in here.- And with that, he made an attempt to move out.

-Wait! That's it? You're not going to...?- Blackwall made a movement with his hand as if conjuring magic to finish his question.

Solas sighed heavily and, without looking at them, he answered,

-I did all I could. Now all we must do is wait.- And then he was gone.

In a second, Dorian was sitting next to her on the bed, first examining a nasty punch on her cheek and then the wound on her leg. He then rubbed his hands together as if preparing himself for something.

-Well then, let's see what _I_ can do.- She held his hand the moment he tried to get close to the wound.

-No, it's fine. Besides,- her voice was almost a whisper,- it won't work.

All three of them leaned in closer, trying to catch her words.

-Run that by me again?- Dorian prompted.

-It won't work!- She said almost furiously and loud enough that even the people outside would be able to hear. She would not look at them, and even in the dim light it was obvious she was a little flushed.

She heard Cullen's voice even closer. The man had obviously taken a few steps toward her bed.

-Is it the mark? Is it blocking the magic?

Maker! Now she wanted to crawl to the corner and die! He sounded so worried; it was evident in his voice, and she was seemingly being forced to spell it out for him and the others.

-It's not that, it's just for a few days until...- She could not finish the sentence.- I'll be fine soon.- She begged the Maker that they would leave it at that... She should have known better.

-Oooooh, so _that's_ what is going on!- _Damn it, Dorian! Why do you have to sound so amused?_ She looked at him, her brow furrowing and murder in her eyes. -Don't look at me like that, darling. I didn't make the rules.- She narrowed her eyes, trying to warn him wordlessly not to joke about it, but he was unabashed. -Look on the bright side: now everyone will rest assured that you're not carrying our illicit lovechild.- He winked at her and she actually felt the heat raising to her cheeks. She looked at Cullen and saw him confused for a second before he chocked and began fidgeting where he stood.

Blackwall, on the other hand, could not look more lost if a darkspawn had started reciting Orlesian poetry to him.

-I don't understand; what's the problem?- he asked on the verge of frustration, focusing on the idle mage sitting on her bed. Blackwall was not famous for being a patient man, and Dorian's and Solas' apparent apathy for her plight made it worse.

Dorian looked back at the warden, gleaming with the opportunity that had been given to him.

-Well you see, when young girls become women, they experience certain changes in their bodies.- This time, she actually took the side of the pillow in her hand and shoved it over her face, grunting at the pleased tone of her friend and the uncomfortable situation she was in, not even caring that she was pressing against the punch she received that promised to turn a lovely shade of blue below her eye by the next day.

Her voice cried out from the depths of the down stuffing.

-Please, shut up!- It was a muffled cry, but they heard it nevertheless. She heard some shuffling movements, and then the Tevinter voice calming the warden.

-Come, I'll explain it over a drink. Maybe I'll get a nice surprise and find a decent wine, although I'm not holding my breath.- As he talked, his voice grew distant until it was finally cut off by the telltale sound of a door being closed.

She breathed deeply, but did not take her face away from the pillow, enjoying what it felt like to have the world around her disappear at that moment.

Cullen stood there, not knowing what to do. When Dorian led Blackwall out, he had not followed for a myriad of reasons. First of all, the mage did not ask him to go with them, nor make any attempt to show him that's what he wanted, and the look in the warden's face was enough to erase any desire he may have had for tagging along. Blackwall looked as if he was about to murder Dorian, knowing full well the mage was playing with him, but forcing himself not to in order to know what was going on with the Inquisitor. Secondly, Solas had warned them not to let her move, and if he knew anything about her, he was sure she would try to do just that the moment she felt free enough to do it. But above all, to be honest with himself, he didn't want to leave her side just yet. The moment he saw the blood at the entrance, his heart had raced as much as his mind, considering all the possibilities, most of them grim representations of his worst fears.

At first he had not realized what was going on, but when Dorian had teased in that manner, he understood. Healing magic did not work as well as it should when a woman was enduring her monthly cycle. He remembered hearing about it in the circle. Apparently, in those days, if someone cast a healing spell over her, the magic would also try to heal what was not a wound to the point of reducing or stopping the bleeding completely, but with the obvious consequence that it would not have the desired effect over the actual wound one might want to heal. As far as he knew, persisting with magic would do nothing but exhaust the mage and probably bring problems to the female patient, only healing the wound once her monthly bleeding had stopped. Most enchanters then avoided the use of magic when a woman was wounded during that week, and therefore treated the patient as any other physician would. Solas had tried to use it; he could smell it in the air when he entered the keep, but apparently the mage had refrained himself from doing more harm than good, knowing already that his spells will not work as anticipated.

Naturally, the same happened with potions. He had once witnessed a templar draught more than fifteen healing potions in the hopes of closing a sword wound on her side so she could go back to the fight. Once back in the barracks, the woman had been in bed for an entire week, going in and out of fever episodes, complaining about a strong pain in her lower abdomen the few times she was even conscious. According to what he found out later, the amount of potions in her blood and the interruption of her monthly period in such an unnatural way had provoked all her symptoms.

Since then, he had not forgotten about this knowledge in order to better serve his protégées and help his fellow female templars and those in his charge. Luckily, he had never witnessed another episode like those two and felt grateful for it. It was not his area of expertise, and he usually tried to delegate those things to anyone more prepared than him to face it, such as Solas or the army healers. What was strange was that he had never considered that Evelyn was also taking an additional risk, purely by being a woman, let alone the Inquisitor and the Herald. Maker, he'd been an idiot!

She was lying in bed now, her face still buried in the pillow. The silence was making him nervous, and he fought to find something to say.

-Can I...- he cleared his throat since his voice sounded lower than a whisper and was lost in the middle of the sentence. -Can I do something for you?

She had not heard him the first time, and when he raised his voice to be heard, she almost jumped in the bed, wincing immediately when her leg sent needles of pain all over her lower body.

-Cullen! I didn't know you were still here.

-I'm sorry...- He fidgeted a little before adding, -I can leave if you prefer.

She smiled faintly and sighed.

-No, that's fine. I just wish I could have received the army properly. Leliana will be furious when she finds out.

He looked up curiously.

-She isn't here?

Evelyn shook her head.

-No, she went on a reconnaissance mission with her men an hour ago. I'm surprised you didn't bump into her.- She laughed softly to avoid any unnecessary movement, and then met his eyes. - Scratch that, you would not be able to find them even if you wanted to. That's the idea, isn't it?- He smiled and nodded while taking a seat in a chair near her bed.- She wanted to kill me. Said the least the Inquisition needed was a careless leader.

-She is right.- He sounded more harsh than he had wanted to, but he couldn't help it. She had scared him with her hunting trip.

-Oh, Maker, not you too. -He was about to say something, but she raised her hand to stop him. -I know, I know. But the professor needed the information, and we needed to do _something_ or we would get lazy waiting for reinforcements.

Her excuse was so lame that it almost made him laugh. It was, nonetheless, a poor justification and he was not going to let her get away with it.

-The siege of Adamant is upon us, and the army relies on you as their leader to keep the morale high. You can't go out there and risk your life for such an inconsequential thing as some professor, whoever he is. I...- He quickly fixed his mistake.- We need you.

His heart had hastened again, and he was inwardly cursing himself over and over for his slip when Solas spoke. _When had he come back?_

-It's no use, Commander. She heard those words from the four of us, as well, and chose to ignore them.

-Come on, Solas! Don't be like that!

The elf did not answer her, instead removing the covers from the rest of her body, exposing her even more.

 _Maker's breath, she's only in her smalls and shirt_. Cullen swallowed awkwardly and seriously considered walking out of there. In fact, he was already turning to the door when Solas spoke.

-Commander, if you don't mind, I will need you here.

 _What? Why?_ He looked at the apostate as if waiting for an answer to the question he had not voiced. Solas, regardless, was too focused on her and did not even deign to look back at him, assuming he would obey without discussion.

He tried to look in any other direction, but when the mage touched her and she hissed between her teeth, his instincts made him look directly at the leg, disregarding propriety completely. The moment he did, though, he regretted it in an instant. The mere sight pained him as if he were the wounded party himself.

On the side of her leg, from the knee up to her thigh, he could see an angry wound closed by black stitches. All her left leg was red and swollen in comparison to her right one, and close to the wound itself the skin showed a slight bluish hue, supposedly where the creature's head had collided with it. Solas methodically treated the wound and applied another layer of balm before looking back at him.

-Would you please help me?

Cullen nodded and stood up, looking everywhere as he tried to find something the elf might need. There was nothing, all the necessary supplies next to him on the bed.

-Here,- Solas directed, pointing to the other side of the bed, -sit just there and hold up her leg, if you would.

The Commander did as he was told and, sitting down on the bed, took her leg in his hand. He couldn't see her, or rather he avoided making eye contact with her considering he was now on his side. Cullen could have watched her only by turning his face to the left, but this was going to be hard as it was without adding her face to the mix.

The mage began to bandage her with extreme ease, his face serene and hand steady. And yet he was taking forever to do so. What Cullen didn't know was that Solas was bandaging her in order to leave the wound alone until the next day, when he would change it. Therefore, he had to do the job carefully, but well enough to withstand any movement she may make while sleeping that could shift the bandages out of place, causing more harm than good. All of that required little time in his opinion, but to Cullen, who was feeling each second drag as fast as the ages themselves, the perception of "little time" was completely different.

It wasn't that he found this unpleasant. Actually, it was exactly the opposite that was causing trouble. In those precious seconds he had her there half naked, and though he tried as hard as he could to divert his eyes, he could not help but notice how fair she was.

Her skin was pale and soft, completely devoid of hair as most ladies accustomed. She was covered all over with scars and marks made by the fate that had fallen upon her. Most of them where recent, but there were a few that weren't, and he could not help but wonder where she had received those. The common belief was that such skin, so bright and delicate, was ruined once it was blemished in such a way, but for him, each and every mark was a proof of her wonderful spirit. The personality that had captivated him to no end, scarring her with the inevitable consequences of choosing to protect instead of being protected. To face any danger she might encounter, only to guard those around her of the evils the world threw at them. For him, those scars spoke of how perfect she was, and even if the fact that someone had dared to touch her in such a way hurt him in the deepest parts of his soul, he could not feel anything but adoration for the marks, mixed with the strong need to worship her as he never had any other living being in his life. He wanted to kiss every scar, every marred inch of flesh and heal any pain she may feel from it.

Solas kept to his work and eventually pushed the hand Cullen had in her shin so he could move it, sliding over her leg as if he were caressing her, slowly and tenderly. In that moment, Cullen's mind was so filled with her that he felt dizzy. Her warmth was calling to him, and he feared his breath and raising heartbeat might give him away.

But his training came to his aid and, trying not to close his eyes to concentrate (that would have raised questions, or at least suspicions) he willed himself to calm down. Years and years of practice controlling his emotions in compromising situations (not that _any_ of those had to do with something like this) served him well. He was actually achieving a relative calm little by little.

But then he heard a sigh behind him and felt a gentle touch on his lower back, sliding softly along his spine until it settled, still touching his skin where the hem of his breeches met his tucked shirt. Inwardly, two voices began to fight. One was accusing him of being an idiot for taking his armor off before walking inside the room to see her, arguing the heat was no excuse to literally let his guard down. The other one was telling him he hadn't had a better idea in his entire life. The possibility of feeling her again, even as briefly as this would be, was the most exhilarating idea he could think of.

Her feet were now next to his right leg, almost resting against him while her own leg surrounded him completely, making him recall one too many fantasies wherein she trapped his frame with her legs while holding him. Their skin wasn't obstructed by any cloth, and were only covered by each other.

The soft sighs weren't helping things, either. When she made that sound and stretched her leg around him, he felt his eyelids closing automatically and against his will, cherishing the feeling of her caress and the tender sound that, for him, felt like the voices of his deepest desires coming to tempt a very much willing Commander.

The moment lasted only a couple of minutes, and Solas was nearly finished bandaging the wound, but to him it felt like an eternity and a second all at once. His nervousness and fragile self control screamed that this entire situation was lasting long enough for him to crack at any second and disgrace himself by allowing his body to react. This was the second time he'd had her curled beside him, invading him with her warmth and fragrance until he felt drunk off of her. And his selfishness and ill advised delusions, that part of him that just couldn't face reality and the social abyss between them, told him unrelentingly that no amount of time he spent holding her, even this chastely, would be enough to kill his yearning for this woman.

 _Just accept it: This will never be. Face it and move on!_

He breathed deeply, calming his nerves and his mind, the verses of the Chant of Light flowing from his memory to help him focus on anything else... something less condemnable.

He was at the sixth verse of the Canticle of Andraste when he noticed the irony of the blessed scriptures that came to his aid. Those verses where based on the song sung by Andraste Herself that had captivated the Maker so much that he had offered her a place at his side. A being beyond her reach had come to her, charmed by her spirit, and had asked her to be his bride even though any other may have thought her less than worthy. And here he was, pining for a woman leagues above him, sacred in the eyes of many, defying all social and professional conventions simply by wishing.

Beyond the Fade, there were stronger demons that everyone had to face eventually. Even if one could reject a desire demon, one could not stop the mind and heart from coveting what was unobtainable. And that was a feeling stronger than any Fade creature, a force that could break even the most righteous man and turn him into naught but a tortured soul.

Those same forces had wrecked him since the first time he had seen her smile. They were trying to convince him that it wasn't a coincidence, into believing he actually _had_ a chance. They were luring him into overthinking every word, every kind gesture, or every casual touch she had given him.

As if she knew what he was thinking, her right leg moved a touch, brushing his lower back once again. Then it settled in such a position he could almost swear was pressing her thigh against him, as if she could stop him from leaving with that simple gesture.

 _If she only knew she could trap me with a single glance_.

He dared to look at her and saw her watching as Solas tied the ends of the bandages on her thigh.

He had finally finished the job (finally, or far too soon?) and was getting up from the bed. The time had come to let her go, and though he felt relieved, he also couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed. Cullen did his best to detach himself from his turbulent mind and placed her leg carefully on the straw mattress, regretting her instant reaction of untangling her right leg from his frame and bending it to the side, avoiding all eye contact just as he was, only stealing small side glances from time to time.

-You need to rest now, Inquisitor, and you will need to refrain from walking or jostling the dressing. With luck, three days from now you will be able to take small incursions throughout the keep.- Solas said that as if it was logical and would not entail any problems at all.

Evey, on the other hand, had turned her head to face him and looked at the elf as if he was asking her to turn into a qunari.

-You can't be serious.

-Have you known me to joke about this kind of thing?- True, she never saw him do that; actually he rarely joked. Most people thought he did not joke at all, but she knew better. Solas was quite funny and bitingly sarcastic when he wanted to be, but only with those he felt truly comfortable, and there were not many people whom qualified as such.

-We _both_ know I can't stay idle. The army is here and the battle is upon us. I have to be on my feet by tomorrow.

Cullen felt disturbed by her stubbornness. She was right of course, but that did not mean she should ignore her own needs.

-Leliana and I can handle it. And we have all the inner circle to help us.- He looked at Solas as if asking for confirmation.

The elf nodded solemnly.

-The work on the siege equipment began the moment the Spymaster arrived, and if Captain Rylen informed us correctly, the workers still need three days more to complete them.

She already knew that. Evelyn was present when the Captain told them this yesterday morning. The information was clearly for Cullen, and that's when she realized what the Commander looked like. His shirt was dirty, and halos below his armpits and neck showed he had removed his armor, but not yet changed his clothes, let alone bathed. His hair was a mess, and from time to time when he touched it, she could see sand falling from it. The blond curls falling over his forehead were dry, but still stuck together, proof that he inadvertently had combed his hair with the perspiration he was covered with. She could even see his lips cracking due to the dry and scorching weather of the region.

 _Had he not taken the time to even hydrate himself before coming here?_ She felt a pang of guilt thinking he had rushed in here the moment he dismounted, but simultaneously a pleasant warmth invaded her chest, rising to her cheeks and making her blush just a little.

-We'll call a War Council tomorrow afternoon.- She looked at Solas with pleading eyes. -I can't stay here for three whole days. If not for anything else, at least I have to do it for the army's spirits. How do you think they'll react if they see me prostrated in bed just days before a siege? We'll be defeated before we even ride for the first wave of attack. I've done enough damage to their morale by not receiving them properly. The news about my injury probably spread, already.- The moment she said that, she realized that meant the whole army would wonder about why they didn't use magic on her, and someone was bound to realize the correct reason for that. _So much for being subtle_ , she grimaced.

Solas thought about it for a while and then spoke with determination.

-I'll allow that under certain conditions.

-I'm listening.- She was already smiling, knowing she had won at least at some level.

-You will do as I say without question. You'll rest most of the day and receive treatment as I see fit.-She nodded, prompting him to continue with his stipulations. -You'll be able to go to dinner in the common hall, assuming you are willing to be escorted there, since I doubt you'll use crutches to assist you. - Evelyn smiled apologetically to indicate that he was right, and to acknowledge that she was a difficult patient on a daily basis, but she was not going to change. Solas continued, -but you'll eat the rest of your meals here. You will not train until I say otherwise, and under no circumstances will you force your leg beyond what you feel is comfortable.- Meaning what _he_ felt comfortable letting her do.

-Seems like you leave me no choice, my friend.- She paused for dramatically effect. -I'm going to have to kill you.- She smiled and reached over her shoulders on instinct, reaching for her daggers in a display of her acting skills that would make Dorian proud. When she found nothing on her back, she put on a face like a disappointed child, but changed the expression entirely when she looked to Cullen, smiling like an innocent young girl. -Could you please lend me your sword? It will be but a moment.

Cullen couldn't help laughing at that and glanced back at Solas, who was trying to hide his smile as he packed his things back in his satchel.

-You can kill him later, Inquisitor. I think you need to rest first.

-That is correct. I promise I will let you try once you are in good health again, ma'falon.

She kept up her childish attitude and tried to look like they had spoiled her good fun.

-Yes, hahren.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21: Strategies and Chess

The next day came, and she was still lying on her bed.

The night before, a few hours after Solas and Cullen had left her room, she had tried to seize the loophole in her agreement with the elf and sent a kitchen boy to save her a place at the dinner table. Not long after the boy had scurried away to carry this out, Solas himself appeared in her room, as if having overheard the entire exchange, to inform her she was not moving from that bed until the War Council tomorrow afternoon. Playing innocent and telling him she had thought she was allowed to go to dinner that night did not work on him, either. Her friend had simply looked at her in that particular way only he could to show her wordlessly that she was not fooling anyone with that act.

And so it was that the next morning and afternoon found her still lying in bed with almost nothing to do, save to read the many reports that always came in or talk to her friends when they took it upon themselves to visit her.

When the time finally came, she was fidgeting in her bed almost an hour early, wishing to leave that room for as many hours as she could get away with, even if it meant discussing tactics and facing the notion that in a few days, many of those good soldiers out there would meet their deaths.

With this, she wavered. Who was she to send them to their Maker? She was asking too much of them, and they were all too eager to give it to her… That was the hardest part of all.

A knock on the door took her out of her musings. It was still too early to go to the Council, but Leliana had told her she would send someone to help her take a bath (or the most similar thing she could do from the bed) so the interruption was completely welcome.

At her command, a young woman entered followed closely by Leliana, Vivienne, and, to her total surprise, Bull.

-Good afternoon, Inquisitor. I trust you are feeling better,- Leliana greeted her.

Vivienne did not let her answer.

-I daresay she will, the moment we finish here. Bull, dear, please put the buckets here and the wash basin just there.

On cue, Bull exited briefly and came back with more than half a dozen buckets filled with water and a huge wash basin under his arm. He put the buckets on the floor and the wash basin near the side of the bed over a little stool. Then he turned, looked straight at her, and winked (and if it wasn't for the smile that accompanied it, she would not have been certain whether it was a wink or a blink, considering the giant had only one eye) before taking a few steps to stand beside her bed, silently watching the unknown woman take a choice few tiny flasks from a pouch. There were approximately half a dozen bottles and they were all made of thick, colored glass, decorated in the most intricate ways, some of them looking more like flowers or exotic animals than containers.

The woman uncorked one, and a delicate flowery scent filled the air. It was very similar to the perfume she usually wore, but there was another note along with her fragrance of choice. With the sweet aroma of jasmine, she could distinguish other fresh ones she could not quite identify, but reminded her of summer fruit juices.

The flasks, the perfume, and the particular members of her circle that had arranged this (save for Bull) made her realize that these were expensive Orlesian bath oils and creams. They were planning on making this more complicated than she had imagined, apparently.

Bull was still standing next to her, and he was close enough that she was able to tap him in the side with her elbow. When the qunari looked down at her, she whispered,

- _That_ I get,- and pointed to all the luxuries the women were preparing for her, -but what are _you_ doing in here? Are you planning on get me drunk so they can do whatever they want?

-Nah,- he muttered back with a shrug, -I'm just here for the heavy lifting.

She didn't have time to answer, for the unfamiliar woman came forward with a couple of selected flasks and knelt next to the water basin. Once she was in position, she looked at Bull, whom hopped into bed next to her and, without any warning, took her in his arms.

-Here we go, Boss.- He sounded extremely amused for his part in all of this, _and_ for the look of complete surprise she probably made.

-What are you...?- she managed to say before Bull repositioned her parallel to the headboard with her head hanging from the side of the bed, right over the water basin.

Then he laughed loud as he got off the bed and placed all the buckets near the woman kneeling next to her.

-Well, that's it for me. See you at dinner, Boss!- He waved and was about to leave when she stopped him, looking at him upside down from her position in the bed.

-You mean _I_ was the heavy lifting?!- she protested with outrage.

He raised both his hands as though excusing himself.

-Hey, don't worry, Boss. I could flip you in bed more times than you would be able to stand.- He watched her as if he was willing to prove that in a very enthusiastic manner, but Vivienne intervened.

-Thank you, Bull,- she pronounced the words carefully, firmly reprimanding him for his inappropriate commentary, so Bull was left laughing even more loudly than before as he walked out the door.

The moment the door was closed, the woman next to her filled a pitcher and poured fresh, cool water over her hair. The sensation was a blessing in itself, almost banishing the heat from her head. She relaxed almost immediately, which only increased when the woman put a little of the contents of one flask in her hands and began rubbing it through her hair, massaging her scalp while producing a considerable amount of lather that filled her nostrils with a lovely apple scent. She hummed her approval with closed eyes, enjoying the sensation of it and hearing how Vivienne and Leliana laughed quietly at the sounds she was making.

-This is way more than I had in mind, Leliana.

-I'm glad to hear it. We can't let you go out there the way you entered. We need to show the army you are getting better, and if you cross the courtyard with your hair covered in grime and blood, well… We can hardly allow that.

-And the same goes for those bruises, darling. Once we are through, here, you'll look as refreshing as a summer breeze.- Evelyn opened one eye and watched as Vivienne opened little boxes with creams in various light skin colors, selecting the perfect one for her skin tone and setting it next to another one that was such a soft hue of pink that it was barely noticeable, and a black one next to that.

She closed her eyes again, grunting. She had nothing against makeup, but only when she was the one applying it. Leliana, Vivienne, and Evelyn held completely different opinions on the appropriate amount of cosmetics a woman should wear..., and that was when she had no bruises to cover.

At least she should feel lucky Josephine and Dorian were not here, too.

An hour later, she and Leliana crossed the courtyard to an open tent, where a huge wooden plank was placed over two trestles to play the part of their War Table. It wasn't the beauty Blackwall had delivered to them in Skyhold, but it would do in a jam, as it was now.

The table was covered in papers and maps, reports everywhere and pins gathered in a specific area of what she supposed was The Western Approach representation. Cullen was already there, studying possible troop movements when they arrived.

He raised his head with his mouth open, a greeting at the ready. But when his eyes met her, he lost his voice in the spot.

She had to admit she looked nice, if a little over-the-top for an army foothold. Leliana and Vivienne had combed her hair up and let a few strands fall over her face to draw attention away from the parts of the soft bruise the makeup had not completely concealed. She was dressed in a delicate blouse with silver embroidery on the cuffs, around the neckline, and traveling down the middle of her chest to her naval, until the stitching was lost to the skintight leather pants, which were no different from the ones she usually wore, only a few shades lighter in color. It was obvious these particular items of clothing were brought along by one of the two most elegant women in all the Inquisition, who had dutifully taken the time to perfect her image over the last hour.

Cullen was impressed. The way Evey looked in that moment was not something he could ignore, and he usually didn't pay any special attention to the appearances on his coworkers, much to Josephine's dismay, who thought his impassive reaction toward her many detailed outfits was the only feature he had that she would consider a less-than noble or gentlemanly attitude from him. It was not that the ambassador was trying to impress him in any special way; she was just a fashion enthusiast, to put it mildly, and as such she always expected at least a gracious compliment on her taste and refinement. Of course, Cullen was not a man prone to be impressed by looks alone. In a way, he admired a lot of features from Josephine's personality, but her fashion sense was not one of them, being almost too influenced by Orlesian trends, and often so ridiculously ornate that he could practically feel the headaches forming at the far corners of his eyes. Cullen was the kind of man that was genuinely impressed by actions, not looks.

But now he was completely muted by the mere radiance the Inquisitor was exuding in front of him. She was dressed simply (too simply for the other women's opinions, and that had resulted in a long and tedious discussion earlier) but for him, it was more than enough. She could dress in rags and still he would find her beautiful, but the difference between the woman he had seen the day before, wounded and tired (but still so alluring, especially scarcely clothed as she had been) and the powerful one standing before him: back straight, deep golden hair pinned up, lips pink, dark eyelids framing her hazel eyes, and wafting the sweetest perfume in his direction, was a sight worth losing his ability to speak.

When she smiled timidly after a full five seconds of intense scrutiny, Cullen cleared his throat and inclined his head in her direction.

-Inquisitor. You look...- A sea of adjectives swept through his mind. _Marvelous? Sublime? Enchanting? Ravishing? Sinful?_ Yes, and much more, but those were not opinions he could voice. -…recovered.- He flinched imperceptibly. That had sounded much better in his head.

-Thank you; remind me to ask you to tell that to Solas. Maybe he will believe you and give me back my freedom.- She stepped forward without leaning on Leliana and flinched slightly, moving her hand automatically to her wounded leg. As he rushed to round the table in her direction to help, Cullen took note of the slight bump of the bandages below her trousers. When he reached her side, he took her arm in his casually, as any man would do only to accompany a lady, and not to give the appearance of supporting her as she walked.

-Somehow I doubt that,- he added, smiling as he guided her near the table.

Leliana had made her way tableside and was apparently studying a requisition order while taking side glances towards them and smiling, somewhat amused.

Once Cullen had left her side and moved to take his own position, Evelyn sighed heavily, her face morphing from a careless woman traveling the road to recovery, to a serious and committed leader of men. The Commander couldn't help the feeling of unfairness that picked at his mind when he saw the burden of her position weigh down her shoulders once again. All of Thedas demanded too much from her, and instead of resenting them for it, she took the responsibility with the sincerity her position required.

-Well then, let's have it: what do we know of our enemy?- Just like that and straight to the point, Evelyn Trevelyan took the reins of the Inquisition after a short day of absence.

Leliana was the first to answer.

-They have chosen their position carefully. Adamant Fortress has stood against the darkspawn since the time of the Second Blight.- She unfolded a yellowed sketch of the layout of the Fortress that looked like it dated back of the time the keep was constructed.

-Fortunately for us, that means it was built before the age of modern siege equipment. A good trebuchet will do major damage to those ancient walls.- Cullen pointed to the schematics of the walls and positioned a couple of army pawns in strategic locations. It was evident that the Commander had studied the best course of action for a long time, and considered this the best option.- And thanks to our Lady Ambassador...- He looked back at Leliana, who was holding a note with Josephine's elegant handwriting on it.

-Josie made sure Lady Seryl of Jader lent us her sappers happily. They've already delivered the trebuchets.- Leliana folded the note again and looked at her without any trace of positivity. -That is the good news.

-And the bad news?- She was slightly furrowing her brow at Leliana's odd demeanor.

-Erimond called the ritual at the watchtower a test. He may already be raising his army of demons in the fortress.- Despite her previous slide, now she spoke with a neutral tone, as if she was absently reciting specifications to a subaltern.

Cullen was the one in charge of voicing the thoughts that were in all their heads, but were too caution to say out loud. His brow frowned as he looked at Leliana seriously, as if the idea of demons broke the lines of his conviction, but he was internally fighting back with all the faith he had in the Inquisition, trying to regain the ground this news was claiming from him.

-The Inquisition forces can breach the gate, but if the Wardens already have their demons...- He did not need to finish the sentence. They knew what he meant. Evey and Cullen exchanged a worried glance, as if trying to find a gap in what it seemed like a lost cause.

Leliana however looked peaceful, as if she knew something they did not. And, as usual, she did.

-I found records of Adamant's construction. There are choke points we can use to limit the field of battle.- She showed them handmade drawings of a more detailed layout of the fortress, where she had marked said choke points.

-That's good.- Something in Cullen's face had relaxed while he took in this new possibility.- We may not be able to defeat them outright.- He turned to look at her earnestly. -But if we cut off reinforcements, we can carve you a path to Warden Commander Clarel.

She sighed while looking at the maps Leliana had brought. The idea was good, and Cullen seemed convinced. To her that was enough, but as always, to put others in danger was the part she hated.

-Taking this fortress is going to get a lot of good soldiers killed. -She cast her eyes downward as she spoke, feeling her advisors' eyes on her.

Leliana replied as if she was stating the obvious.

-Our soldiers know the risks, Inquisitor. And they know what they're fighting for.

-It'll be hard fought; no way around it. But we'll get that gate open.

That's when she raised her eyes. Cullen looked fierce. Both his hands laid on the pommel of his sword, back completely straight with perfect posture, and a look that could intimidate any enemy as well as inspire any ally. She wished she had the strength of his convictions, the certainty and faith he had in them... in her. For a second, the image of her failing, and him falling after her, crossed her mind, and she lowered her eyes to the maps again, closing them furiously despite the pain it brought to her cheek.

Cullen seemed to sense her conflict, and though he didn't know the true cause, he said in a more soothing voice,

-It's also possible that some Wardens may be sympathetic to our cause.- He was trying to instill some hope that the casualties on both sides would be less than feared. He knew her well enough to realize it was not only their own men that worried her, although they worried her more than the others, but the lives of the Wardens, as well. No matter what, they believed they were acting honorably, not realizing they were being manipulated into doing the most atrocious things for the exact creature they were sworn to combat.

-The warriors may be willing to listen to reason,- Leliana made a sound, almost like a hybrid between an snort and a bitter laugh. -Though I doubt they will turn against Clarel directly. The mages, however, are slaves to Corypheus. They will fight to the death.

-We've built the siege engines, Inquisitor. The sappers need only one more day to calibrate the trebuchets. We still wait for the arrival of the Hessarians with the rest of our forces coming from The Storm Coast. According to the reports,- Cullen took a letter from the table and scanned the information, -they should be here by tomorrow afternoon. Once they settle, I'll need two days to finish readying our forces. Considering that, in four days, you can give the word, and we march on Adamant.

He was gripping his sword's pommel only with his left hand now, the other one on his chest and clenched into a fist, punching his chest plate lightly as he bowed his head slightly. He was the epitome of the knight in shining armor: secure, confident, and strong, ready to face the enemy and live to see another day. He was willing to fight until the last thread of his life vanished from his body, fighting for their cause… For her.

Deep down, she prayed she could trust herself as much as he trusted her, because Maker knew she would need it to step into her Inquisitor persona and lead them to what might be all their deaths.

Hours later, she was sitting in the yard with most of the soldiers and her inner circle after dinner, chatting placidly and enjoying the first night where the weather had been kind on them and they could feel a slight breeze relieving the intense heat they had been suffering with, lately.

After a while there, she began to feel the same peace she usually felt when she was at Skyhold late at night, in the tavern with her friends, or in her room leaning on the balcony and staring into the night, trying to empty her mind of anything related to her duties for just a few hours. Considering what they had discussed this afternoon, that feeling was more than welcome.

Once they got the main attack mapped out, Hawke and Stroud had joined them to refine the details, and with that, the whole afternoon had passed in just a blink, leaving her with a sense of pride for her people, but also with a keen sense of dread that she was trying too hard to hide.

Today, all of them had had to planned the next move and gone through all possible contingencies, although it all looked to be in their favor thanks to Leliana's intelligence reconnaissance, Cullen's strategies, and Josephine's capability of swaying strong allies to their side. Still it was as it always was with battles: grim. She knew a lot of her men and women would not be coming back to Skyhold once this was over, and that made her feel like a trespasser among them. A demon crawling into their lines, waiting for the perfect moment to throw them to their perdition.

This spiral of dark thoughts just went from bad to worse with each passing moment and, fearful of attracting Cole's attention, she tried to find something else to do besides sulk over possibilities, or the lack of them. In her inspection, she caught sight of Cullen and Dorian sitting around a small table in the westernmost parapet. They were playing chess and, judging by the way their hair was moving and their lamplight was flickering, also receiving a considerable amount of fresh air.

She looked back to where Solas was, and after seeing him talking to Blackwall and Sera (probably another discussion about erotic travels in the Fade, willingly or not, for his part) she decided to join the pair. After all, that parapet was accessible through a ramp instead of a stairwell, thanks to all the boxes they had to upload there, so getting to the table was not going to be difficult in her condition.

Slowly, and without putting too much weight on her wounded leg, she went to their meeting.

As she got near them, she could distinguish their forms better. Dorian, as usual, had on extravagant attire, all straps and buckles from the waist up. Therefore, his chest was practically bare, the dark leather not covering more than the first line of his abs, his left arm, and nipple, and little more. He wore a pair of dark boots as well that would have made Leliana squeal with delight in a storefront, which were all the more visible thanks to his posture, leaning against the back of the chair with his legs crossed. To sum it up, he was the personification of grace and luxury, always donning the latest fashions and using his body as the ultimate weapon to amaze.

Cullen on the other hand was a great deal subtler, though not by any stretch less appealing. In fact, to her, _he_ was the most attractive of the two. Dorian was of course a beautiful man, but he was not her type by a long shot, whereas Cullen fit so perfectly in all categories she deemed attractive in a man that it was almost too much to bear, at times.

The weather had granted her (and quite a lot of others, she was sure of it) the opportunity to enjoy the Commander in a sight rarely seen in Skyhold, given the fact that the intense heat, even at night when the temperature tended to drop a few degrees, was too scorching to bother wearing metal armor when it was not life threatening to go without. So there he was, almost a complete contrast with the mage in front of him.

Where Dorian's black hair and dark outfit almost merged with the night, interrupted only by the color of his gleaming olive skin, Cullen was virtually glowing at the full moonlight. His blonde waves, ruffled by the numerous times he had dragged his hands through it as he tried to relieve the heat and the bothersome drops of perspiration that moistened the back of his neck, created the perfect frame for his lighter tone than the Tevinter's, which shone from a mixture of starlight and wisps of dewy sweat, gathering along the few muscles his shirt allowed her to admire. He had on a plain white tunic, slightly opened at the neck with no more than his collarbones visible, but it was enough to make her swallow hard when she spotted them. He had a pair of worn out leather pants and his usual boots, although he had lost the greaves that usually covered his shins. He was a sight to behold, and she was completely lost to it.

 _Maker, how can he do this to me without even trying?_

Dorian was, of course, attentive to everything, especially her reactions in the proximity of their Commander, and was openly grinning when she approached, though he made sure Cullen did not notice they were being spied upon, allowing her to witness a little bit of their usual routine chess match.

Before she could cover the short distance remaining between them, she lost whatever Dorian had said to his rival, a devious smirk on his lips. She was just a step away when she heard Cullen talking, barely moving his lips from his own hands that were fisted in front of him while his elbows supported his weight on his knees.

-Gloat all you like. I have this one.

Dorian's smirk grew wider, and his reply came with the most catlike voice she had ever heard him elicit.

-Are you sassing me, Commander? I didn't know you had it in you.

Cullen was already moving the next piece, trying not to look at the other man, wondering out loud.

-Why do I even...

Having lowered his arms, this allowed him to catch sight of her in his peripheral vision and, dropping the piece altogether, he raised partially in his chair to greet her, nearly knocking the board as he did so.

-Inquisitor!

He had both hands on the armrests of the chair now, ready to get to his feet and salute her as his mind told him to respond to his superior and a noblewoman. Almost automatically, she signaled for him to sit down again.

Dorian was of course enjoying the Commander's discomfort at being found in an extremely casual situation, only few days away from their attack.

-Leaving, are you? Does this mean I win?

Cullen sat down again and looked at Dorian with a defeated expression that did not grant the mage his victory in the game, but perhaps did in the sassing department. He had barely placed the fallen piece in the square he had intended to before she appeared in his direct line of sight.

-Are you two playing nice?- She had to admit, she sounded more like she was trying to stoke Dorian's impertinence rather than down it. And of course, the mage did not disappoint.

Looking directly at Cullen with piercing eyes he replied,

-I'm _always_ nice.- She had no idea how her friend managed to make anything and everything sound perverse, but the Tevinter didn't let her think about it for too long. Relaxing his expression a little, he moved another piece. -You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory. You'll feel much better.

The smugness in Dorian's attitude seemed to crawl over Cullen's face, making him grimace. He took one final piece and while repositioning where he wanted to, he answered with the most confident tone.

-Really? Because I just won. And I feel fine!- He dropped his weight onto the back of his chair, the beginning of a chuckle emitting from his throat. It sounded melodious to her ears. She had not often had the pleasure, nor the opportunity, to truly listen to Cullen's laugh.

Dorian looked at him with a smile, ever the face of a winner in spite of his defeat, and raised his hands in the air as he rose from his chair.

-Don't get smug. There will be no living with you.- The sound of creaking leather reached her ears as her friend flaunted his own smugness in the Commander's presence. When he was right beside her he took her hand and bowing slightly, kissing her fingers softly. -My dear.

Even though she knew Dorian had no interest in her, or any other woman for that matter, the spark in his eyes made her heart flutter when he looked at her, still kissing her soft hand. When he straightened again, he passed right next to her and whispered, _"Teach him a lesson, would you?"_ in a tone so soft that any others nearby might've though it had been the wind that had made that sound.

After Dorian began to descend the ramp, Cullen spoke shyly, his eyes fixed on her.

-I should return to my duties as well... unless you would care for a game?

She was not a very skilled chess player, though her father, a chess enthusiast, had tried to pass his hobby onto one of his three children with little to no success. But she knew the basics enough to avoid being utterly shamed by him.

-Prepare the board, Commander.

Cullen began to do so while she took her place in front of him, ignoring completely her discomfort when her tight fitting pants pressed down on her bandages. Once she was at ease again, she helped him to set the board, and unintentionally brushed her fingers with his when they both went to move a piece in the same quadrant. They both stammered incoherent things and the moment slowly passed, leaving only a light blush on each of their cheeks as a proof that it had happened.

When everything was ready, he gestured to the board with a hand, inviting her to make her opening move. She did so and, after careful but swift consideration, he settled on where to begin himself, but instead of moving the piece straight away, he began to reminisce.

-As a child, I played this with my sister. She would get this stuck up grin whenever she won... Which was all the time. My brother and I practiced together for weeks. The look on her face the day I finally won...- He was talking about his family with a distant smile on his face, his scarred lip _(Maker, that scar!)_ stretching with it. But then a cloud of sadness seemed to momentarily hover over him, the smile all but lost. -Between serving the templars and the Inquisition, I haven't seen them in years.- He relaxed in his chair, studying the board absently.- I wonder if she still plays...- He finally moved the piece, still looking a bit lost in his own memories.

She wanted to bring his smile back, but the desire to know more about him was too much to let slide.

-You have siblings?

-Two sisters and a brother.- His smile was there, timidly waiting for the perfect time to show itself, but it was visible in his eyes all the same, the barely noticeable curve manifesting on the right corner of his lip.

-Where are they now?- She moved a piece. Not the most thoughtful move she could have made. She lacked the ability to make the game last by making it hard for him to win, but she hoped her careless movements still gave her enough time to spend with him like this. After all, they did not have too many opportunities to talk about his past in any context besides that of Inquisition business.

-They moved to South Reach after the Blight. I do not write them as often as I should. - He looked at the board as if he hadn't noticed her last move, or maybe he was just trying not to talk too openly about the lack of communication with his family. It was evident that the subject was not a pleasant one for him. -Ah. It's my turn.

He considered the board for a second and took up a piece, but before he could place it back down again, she seized that moment to play smug. He would have enough time to suss out that her confidence was all a bluff.

-All right, let's see what you've got.

When he placed the piece in the board she realized the uniqueness of his move. _Really? A knight this early in the game?_ Great, he _was_ a good player. No one with her limited experience in this game would have made that move so early. Any mediocre player knew it was all about moving pawns for at least the first two turns.

She was looking at the board as if she was trying to read a report written in Qunlat when he struck up the conversation again.

-How about you? Any siblings?

She raised her eyes to him in surprise. Certainly he _must_ know about her family members. With Leliana as one of the three heads of the organization before she arrived on the scene, and her lying unconscious for the first week, they must have found out all they could about her identity. After all, her family was fairly noteworthy.

And then she realized. He was looking at her with eager eyes, his scar tight again with a smile, waiting for her answer. He was enjoying their time alone as much as she was, and he wanted to know firsthand about her life, just as she did about his own.

Evelyn found that this was yet another thing she would never be able to deny him.

-Two older brothers. Caleb by two years, and Maxwell by four.

-Are you close?

-Yes, very,- she answered by impulse, but then reality hit her, her smile vanishing at the memory.- Or we were… before I was send to the Chantry.

-How old were you?- He was leaning over the board slightly, trying to catch her distracted eyes. His voice was soft, as if he was dealing with a timid animal.

-Twelve.

He was a tad shocked, if his eyes growing large were any indication, and she hastened to clarify.

-Though I was not sent away, exactly.- She remembered one of the first talks they had, when he told her about his initiation in the order. -As it happened with you, the Chantry saw to my education first. For six years, I lived in the Ostwick Chantry, so I got to see my family on weekends, and even stayed with them, from time to time. Otherwise, I think my mother would have gone mad without her little girl close to her. -She rolled her eyes at the memory of Lady Trevelyan constantly looking for her in the Chantry. -But eventually, I was sent away to serve with the sisters.

Cullen swallowed audibly, attempting to ask casually,

-So you yourself are a Chantry sister?

She looked at him with mischievous eyes. Was this his way of asking if she had taken any vows? That payback took its time to come back to her. In a flash, she remembered his face when she had asked back at Haven if it had been expected of him to give up physical temptation in his service as a templar, the beautiful blush that had flooded his cheeks, and the inevitable stutter that had swept over him.

Some of that same reaction rubbed off on her when she looked at him then. He was watching her intently, waiting for her reply.

-Um.. I.. no. The youngest Trevelyan has always served, either as Templars, or as members of the Chantry, but it's been a long time since my family has forced a child to become a sister or a brother.- She laughed slightly at the memories.- Caleb used to say I had a better chance at swearing myself to the Templar Order and running to Orlais in full ceremonial heavy armor without breaking a sweat than meekly serving as a virginal Chantry sister.

Something in the way Cullen cleared his throat just then made her think that if he had been drinking, he may have choked on it.

-Anyway...- She turned her attention to the forgotten board and thought about her next move, trying to knock the dust off her father's lessons in the back of her mind. -How about you? Is it a tradition in your family that someone in your house must serve the Order?- After due consideration, she adopted his same aggressive stance and moved a rook to the frontline.

He laughed.

-Not at all. In fact, I think I'm the first one to join the Order in my bloodline. -He nudged one of his pawns one square forward.

-And what about your brother? Was he the older, protective one, or the eager, younger one wanting to follow in your footsteps?

-Neither. I mean, Branson is younger, but never wanted to serve the Order. I was eight years old when I first decided that I wanted to become a Templar, and even though he did ask me to teach him swordplay once I entered the Order, he never felt the call to follow me. I suppose it was better that way. He married when I was still in Kirkwall, and last year they had their firstborn. A son. -he grew quiet all of a sudden, pensively looking at the board. -Were he a Templar, that might not have been possible.

She felt the sadness on his soul and tried to change the subject. Luckily, talking about family seemed to work just fine so far, and his last revelation gave her the perfect excuse.

-And so you became Uncle Cullen.- She moved a pawn out of the way of her rook.

He chuckled at that.

-Actually, my elder sister, Mia, and her husband took care of that eleven years ago. And again, a year after that. A girl and a boy. Last time I saw them, Arran was still trying to stand on his own.- He looked at her again, a contagious smile on his face, and without even looking at the board, he moved a piece. - Do you have any nieces or nephews?

-No. Maxwell married four years ago after an extremely long engagement, but according to him, it's too soon to think about children. I suspect this is his way of keeping my mother's nerves on edge and testing my father's patience. After all, he is my father's heir, and as such, it is expected that he sire a son, soon enough.- She shrugged her shoulders at this. -Sometimes I think it's a way to protect his wife, though. Her mother died giving birth to her sister when she was fifteen, and my brother simply can't exist without her. We were all practically raised together.

-An arranged marriage?

-Yes, but a happy one. She's the daughter of my father's general, and was raised right alongside the three of us. Even we knew from a young age that Maxwell and she were promised to each other, but we never focused on it. We were happy to be the troublemakers of Ostwick. Oh, we were a dreadful quartet! But what started as a game and camaraderie for Caleb and me eventually grew into something more for her and Maxwell. By the time they were supposed to be courting, they were already so enthralled with each other that you could hardly separate them at all.- She moved her bishop, fully expecting him to not notice her intention of taking his pawn in the next move.

-Ah, an unwise move, Evey.- She looked at him, both pleased that he had used her name so naturally, and confused because she could not see the failure in her strategy. He took a knight close to the pawn she was aiming for and, just like that, she lost her bishop. -See?

He looked so smug with that smile, and yet she could not help but smile back at him. His happiness was infectious, and her own smile turned devious gradually. If she could not match him in ability, perhaps she could surpass him in attitude.

-A momentary miscalculation, Commander. You will not bring me down so easily.

She caught something in his eyes when she said that, like a fleeting fire burning in his look, one that fed the same fire he had lit in her from the moment she'd met him.

-I wouldn't expect anything less from you, …Inquisitor.- He pronounce her title so carefully, almost savoring the words, and for just a glimpse, the same glimmer of that fire lasted in his eyes before his more timid personality snuffed it out. She felt her stomach flip.

For a while, words were unnecessary and their eyes spoke for themselves. After that fleeting moment of bravery, both of them felt the oppression of what they told themselves was the inclement weather, and they felt content to exchange warm looks and soft smiles, for a time.

After a couple more pensive movements, he spoke again, his tone once more the one she was familiar with.

-This may be the longest we've gone without discussing the Inquisition... or related matters. To be honest, I appreciate the distraction.

Still linked up with the previous moment, she spoke her mind without even thinking what she was saying.

-We should spend more time together.

The second the words fell out of her mouth, she felt an icy chill running down her spine. _What if he doesn't want that, if he interpreted my words as some explicit order instead of a request? Have I just ruined the moment?_

Fearful, but trying to hide her insecurity, she looked up at him. And found his golden eyes locked on hers. Once again, the intensity in his stare made her feel something... strange.

-I would like that...- He almost stammered the words out, but managed to say the entire phrase without stumbling.

She didn't know how to react, nor what to say, and again her mouth took charge without asking for her permission.

-Me, too.- She shakily moved a piece without even registering whether it was black or white. He was smiling now, although she was unable to see it with her eyes fixed in the board and trying to hide what she thought might be a pretty serious and telling blush.

-You said that.- His voice was so deep and soft that a shiver ran down her spine. She lifted her gaze to him, and for a moment, they remained there in silence, looking at each other curiously. Eventually, he broke the stillness. -We should... finish our game. Right. My turn?

He watched the board carefully and moved another piece, trapping her queen. She had a couple of options now, and she went with the one she believed would be the least predictable.

When she met his eyes again, he had a wolfish smile on his face. Without even looking at the board, he took a pawn and moved it directly next to her knight. Then he reclined in his chair, thoroughly triumphant.

-And this one is mine.

She could hardly believe it.

-Wait! What? How did you...?- She put one elbow in the table, her fingers fiddling with her bottom lip like they always did when she was concentrating on something. Replaying the last few moves in her mind, she traced the imaginary moves with her other hand. Cullen laughed at this little act of protestation of hers. Finally, when she verified she indeed had been trapped, she leaned back as well, looking defeated. -My father would be so proud,- she muttered sarcastically with a shake of her head.

Cullen's eyes lit up at that.

-He plays?

-Compulsively. He tried to teach me, the poor man, but I never quite got the hang of it. -She grimaced and raised her eyes to his again, as if an idea had just come to her, when in fact she had been waiting for the right moment to ask since the first time she saw him play.

-You think you could... teach me, sometime?

-Of course,- he agreed, his smiling eyes glimmering in the moonlight. -I'd be happy to… Whenever you prefer.

-I'll hold you to that.

He nodded solemnly, though as Evelyn rose to retire for the evening, Cullen's mind replied with words he would never dare say out loud.

 _And I'll hold you, too, my Herald…_

 _ **oOo**_

 **Author's note: I modified Mia's children age because I realized that being older than Cullen she would probably have had older kids than 5 and 2. Keep in mind that Cullen is around 32 at the time of Dragon Age Inquisitor, and if Mia is older, it seemed logical to think of older kids. Branson is younger than Cullen and also a man (so, no hurries from the biological clock for him) so his kids' can be younger (plus according to the wikia the four year old nephew Cullen mentions in Trespasser is Branson's)**


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22: The Battle of Adamant

Just as Cullen had predicted, the Hessarians and the rest of the Inquisition forces from the Storm Coast arrived before sundown the next afternoon, after their council. That same day, Solas decided that she was ready to begin her treatment with small amounts of magic, which he increased during the day until he had cured her the following morning.

Those days, Griffon Wing Keep was bustling with more activity than it had probably seen in centuries. Their army, as everything in the Inquisition, was eclectic. The Storm Coast had sent a hundred men between their own soldiers and the Blades of Hessarian, leaving only fifty of the former bandits to stay behind at their outpost. Seeker Anais sent along seventy five men that she could spare from the Winterwatch Tower, who made the trip along with fifty of Corporal Vale's best men all the way from the Hinterlands. Caer Bronach in Crestwood contributed with one hundred fifty soldiers, and with their people and Amund's Avvars, the Fallow Mire reunited seventy five more.

And so it was, that four days after the war council, eight hundred men marched on Adamant Fortress.

Inquisitor Trevelyan was on the front lines, right next to Commander Cullen. Both he and Leliana insisted it would be good for the army's morale to see her riding her horse in front of them. She thought it was unnecessary; she wanted to be in that exact same spot as her men, but the idea of riding when her army walked the distance between the keep and the Fortress seemed ridiculous to her, not to mention that her Free Marches Ranger was not a battle horse. He knew how to behave when a limited amount of enemies surrounded her, but she had never tested him in a real battle. Nevertheless, there was no denying that the strength of the image she and Cullen created when they departed from the keep was inspiring. Both on their mounts, the animals completely covered in metal up to their ears, the Commander's sword in his scabbard hanging from his side, and her twin daggers resting at her back, Cullen in full heavy armor and Evelyn in her strong leathers, covering the distance of the army, rallying the troupes, the war cries and cheers from their men filling her spirit to no end. She tried to memorize their faces, each and every one in the crowd, and though she felt a profound pride, she begged the Maker's forgiveness for sending an unknown number of these fine men to their deaths.

After that moment, they came back to their positions at the front, pointing to the path ahead of them. Cullen took his sword out, raised it in the air and swung it forward, tapping the heels of his boots to the sides of his Fereldan Forder and setting the rhythm of their advance. Blackwall's voice resounded behind her, transmitting Cullen's orders and triggering an echo through the men, the order passing from mouth to mouth until it reached the farthest corners of the army and the whole mass of men was on the move.

The Grey Warden, Solas and Cole remained a few steps behind her the whole way in a respectful silence, surrounded on each side with banner men carrying the colors of the Inquisition. They had been the selected team to join her in the attack, and prior to their departure, she had instructed Cole to keep silence. She warned him that he would hear an unending myriad of feelings and fears, but she urged him to keep quiet, lest he frighten the men further.

The rest of the Inner Circle (save for Cassandra who was still at Skyhold) were scattered in different army units. Sera had been, logically, assigned to the archers, who had received her with curious looks and reserved opinions. Red Jenny was famous all over Thedas, but Sera was particularly known among the residents in Skyhold. Most of them had heard of or suffered one of her pranks, and all of them had seen her train and knew her capabilities. Those two sides of her made the men wary, probably wondering how she would react in the midst of a real battle. Vivienne and Dorian were in charge of the mages battalion, and commanded half of it each. They were in the rearguard, clad in their best battle robes and looking straight forward, probably reviewing their carefully designed plan for the mages' attack. Iron Bull was with the foot soldiers, his bulky shape visible from all corners of the army. He had walked with them, gleefully cheering and urging the man next to him to join him in old battle songs, which had apparently worked like a charm on the men, turning their worried expressions into something resembling the excited look Bull had donned since their departure from the Keep. Just as Sera was obviously placed with the archers, Varric had chosen to march alongside the crossbowmen, proudly showing Bianca off where she differed between regular crossbows in the hands of regular men. He was a jewel in the middle of a sea of uniformed Inquisition soldiers.

The army had grown quieter the closer they got to their destination. The only sounds around them were the hooves of a couple of horses, the groaning noises of the trebuchets' wheels dragging hundreds of pounds of creaking wood and metal, the slings moving in time with the wind, almost as if the weapons were eager to feel the release of counterweight that would send them to a vertiginous flight and throw their load towards their target.

When they arrived at their destination, the sun had long since set behind the horizon. A thousand feet away from the fortress, Cullen called a halt and ordered some soldiers to place the siege weapons on a nearby hill, a smaller elevation of no more than 10 feet high and 900 feet away from the Fortress.

In the battlements of Adamant, the lights came on, hundreds of torches and sconces lighting up as an intense murmur reached them. The sounds of metal and wood moving indicated that the Grey Wardens were arming themselves, preparing for the attack. They could do nothing but wait or get out of the Fortress. No bow could reach them from this distance, even when the Commander stepped forward with the foot soldiers a couple of feet more.

But what they could do, and were doing, was summon help from the Fade. As if the dark and inhuman shadows were not proof enough, her hand began to glow more fiercely than ever, casting a green light over her and her mount. Her horse was already accustomed to her marked hand, but not like this, and the intense brightness coming from behind his left eye made him twitch in his place, neighing and rebuffing with edginess. She decided to dismount and step in his line of vision to whisper a few soothing words, trying to make him relax, but as she was doing so, the mark flashed and a piercing pain spread from her palm to her shoulder. She grabbed the horse's mane tightly and gritted her teeth to prevent the scream at the back of her throat from coming out. As this all transpired, another fifteen terrors joined the Grey Wardens in the battlements.

Solas watched her leaning over the horse's head and gripped her shoulder. She did not need to see to know it was him. A pure healing wave washed over her body, lessening the pain. She wanted to tell him he should save his mana, but found it impossible to utter a single word while the pain subsided.

Once she was well again, she looked around and found the battalions in their positions. The foot soldiers on the frontline, a fifteen men row holding a ladder to climb the wall once every fifty men, and the impressive battering ram with an iron fist on the tip, surrounded by men armed with long shields to protect it and several more in the back, ready to roll it to the main gate. Since the ladders couldn't hold his weight and there were no possibilities to fight unless they opened a breach in their forces by throwing down the gate, Iron Bull chose to join the soldiers on the battering ram, tapping the huge log from time to time while fidgeting and sniffing the air, smiling broadly as if he could fill his lungs with the spirit of battle, and doing his best not to charge out of excitement before the order was given. Followed by these were the archers and crossbowmen, Sera and Varric guiding them, one talking non stop and probably cursing every last one of the Grey Wardens and demons alike, while the other was almost losing himself in a sea of taller soldiers, serious and determined, rubbing Bianca's polished wood lovingly. The mages, along with Viviane and Dorian, made an open U at the rear, ready to cast healing magic and protective spells during the first clash and combat magic when they got to enter the Fortress.

The sound of the trebuchets being tensed called her attention, and she turned in time to watch how the sappers were locking the counterweight in position to release it when the order was given.

Everything was ready. There was no going back.

The battlements of the fortress were filled with Grey Wardens and demons alike. Some Warden archers were so eager to begin the fight that they fired arrows, even when it was obvious the army was too far away to be reached by any of them. The demons were fidgeting in place, some even walking the battlements while watching the Inquisition army with feral eyes.

And then she turned and saw Cullen sigh deeply, the last peaceful sound she would hear in the hours to come. Behind him, mages were lighting small fires in their hands, readying themselves to light the projectiles as soon as the trebuchets released them into their targets. She knew that strategy; she had read about it and talked until exhaustion with Cullen and Stroud about its advantages. The charges in the trebuchets were filled with flammable oil that would spread as soon as the projectile would break against the walls, lighting a similar substance within smaller spheres inside that would ignite and explode in a similar fashion, as qunari gattlok did. That way, they could debilitate the Fortress walls sooner, not only giving them the possibility of breaching the compound from another side besides the main gate once this was demolished, but also destroying the battlements, forcing the enemy to fight on the ground.

Cullen looked at her, almost as if he was trying to commit her to memory. After a handful of seconds that felt like an eternity, one that she did not want to end, she nodded gravely, and he returned the gesture before looking behind him.

It all started with a simple motion and one cry:

- _Fire!_

Cullen's voice was like the herald of death. That simple word made all the sappers release the slings in the Trebuchets, starting their battle. The mages fired all their projectiles in time, and the agonizing cries reached her at the exact moment the attack struck the walls.

When the explosions began, the Inquisition men cheered.

Some Wardens were throwing themselves off the battlements, only a few lucky enough to reach the floor dead. Those who didn't, died when their bodies collided with the ground.

The Fade creatures reacted differently. Some were wounded and tried to run or counterattack, but others were invigorated by the fire, almost dancing in joy from the devastation it caused. That only increased once the powder exploded, sending hundreds of stone pieces into the air, some even landing over other Wardens.

The moment the explosions ended, Cullen sent the second wave of projectiles towards the battlements, only to signal Knight Captain Rylen to move the troupes forward once those explosions ended, as well. Rylen began his pace with the foot soldiers, marking their advance with a canticle, an intimidating march that made the Inquisition banners fly in time with their steps. From time to time, the ladders could be seen being carried by some of his men, ready to hook them on the battlements and allow the soldiers to conquer the top of the walls.

In the midst of them, Bull and his group carrying the battering ram began their advance, too, the voice of the qunari reaching her ears even from this distance, singing a qunari song that she was not sure she wanted to know what the lyrics were.

The second the soldiers were close enough to the walls, the archers began their shower of arrows, effectively killing more men than she could bear to count. Each of the bodies that fell without getting up again struck her deep in her soul, jagging it, marking one by one a defeat, one life that could never be replaced. The feeling was so oppressive that she almost charged forward before her time, only Blackwall and Solas' hands on her arms preventing her from going through with it once Cole began to voice her emotions. The Inquisition archers and crossbowmen answered the death of their companions with their own storm of bolts and arrows, and once again, Wardens fell from the battlements to their deaths.

When the stairs were not forty feet away, five soldiers per ladder grabbed the rungs, and the rest of them positioned them against the walls, trying to gain ground over the enemy. Too many didn't make it.

Some of the fallen were assisted by the mages that were now franticly helping the army to survive and attacking at the same time. Inwardly, she prayed to the Maker for the safety of her friends, and instantly felt a tinge of regret for asking for the survival of a few above all others. In that moment, she despised herself.

Her jaw hurt from the force she was using not to scream when Cullen stepped in beside her. That was the signal to advance.

Blackwall, Solas, Cole, Stroud, Cullen and Evelyn charged forward together.

The arrows were flying around her, the men falling and running near them. Above their heads, their own arrows and bolts flew in time with the trebuchet projectiles, this time firing normal loads to prevent the explosions from hurting their own people, whom were climbing up the ladders in the breaches between the trebuchets' targeting points.

They were less than seven hundred feet away from the fortress when a sound like thunder reached her ears, and she realized the battering ram had struck the gates for the first time. She looked there and saw Wardens above the gate throwing rocks at her people. Some fell crushed beneath the stones, and others succumbed to the arrows, but despite that it took only two more strikes for the doors to finally give in.

Seconds later, she was entering Adamant, followed closely by her companions.

With the help of a smattering of Inquisition soldiers, they fought and killed the few Wardens stationed at the entrance, the same ones that had been trying to push against the door to make it hold, if the marks in the floor were any indication. After those men fell, demons took their place, but her team took charge of them without a problem, falling immediately into their battle mode and sending the creatures back to the Fade.

With each demon's death, she could feel the power in her hand growing. It would not take much longer for her to be able to open a tear in the Veil to aid them in the battle.

When the last corrupted spirit disappeared, a projectile reached the internal wall. The sappers must have moved the trebuchets to gain range, attacking the interior walls now that they had a way through the fortress. She looked up to inspect the damage when she saw a Warden running away from the internal rampart.

- _Pull back! They're through!_ \- he cried out to his fellows.

The moment the man was out of her sight, she heard steps behind her. She turned with her daggers in hand, ready to attack , when she saw it was Cullen.

-All right, Inquisitor. You have your way in. Best make use of it. We'll keep the main host of demons occupied for as long as we can.- He was talking quickly, stating things matter of factly and without delay.

She nodded.

-I'll be fine. Just keep the men safe.

Cullen nodded back and took one step forward before she could get out of there.

-We'll do what we have to, Inquisitor. Warden Stroud will guard your back. Hawke is with our soldiers on the battlements.- He pointed the way with his sword. -He's assisting them until you arrive.

A scream called their attention, and they looked up just in time to see one Inquisition soldier falling from the walls and to his death. When they heard the sound of his body landing in the sand, a Hunger demon peered over the wall to the spot where the unfortunate soldier had died.

Cullen frowned and looked at her in alarm.

-There's too much resistance on the walls! Our men on the ladders can't get a foothold. If you can, clear out the enemies on the battlements. We'll cover your advance.- She nodded once again and was about to turn and leave when he grabbed her arm and looked at her worriedly. -Please, take care of yourself.

He pronounced those words with such softness that she felt a lump form in her throat. She swallowed to ease the pressure there and to contain the tears that threatened to spill over. Before she was able to answer to him, begging him to be safe as well, he was gone.

Once again, she acted selfishly and prayed to the Maker to protect Cullen especially. She doubted she could cope with his death. The mere idea of it made her chest feel heavier. If she failed and he died, she would never forgive herself.

That very same thought was the one that prompted her to action. Cullen had been gone only for a few seconds when she turned and began running towards the end of the lower bailey, where a lateral stair led her to a smaller courtyard practically covered in sand, where other Wardens had stayed behind to block her path.

Each blow to them pained her to no end. These were Grey Wardens, protectors of Thedas, men and women who had fought their whole lives for a good cause, or had found within these ranks, and through their service, the road to recompense from a torturous and troubled past. And now, deceived and corrupted, they were blindly serving an ancient darkspawn magister, fueling the biggest evil Thedas had witnessed since the Last Blight, a decade ago.

She was gritting her teeth by the time the last of them fell to the floor. Absently, she asked her companions if everyone was all right, and barely registered their reassurances when she spotted a couple of hunger demons crawling through the same wall that she had seen the other one (or maybe one of them) throw one of the Inquisition soldiers.

She couldn't wait to exact her revenge. She charged against them, her figure almost blurring in the shadows as she leaped to attack one of the creatures with a deadly strike, hitting it from behind, only to jump straight to the other one, burying both her daggers right into the demon's chest. By the time she finished this strike, back flipping to get out of their reach, Stroud was beside her, slamming his shield into the demon's face. From the corner of her eye, she saw Blackwall and Cole taking care of the other demon while Solas' Fade fist collided with Stroud's target.

This time she did not get to ask how everyone was, because she heard a plea coming from the next courtyard.

-Brothers, can't you see this is madness?!

And another voice answering the first one.

-It's not use! Their minds are not their own!

They ran to their location and jumped directly into the fight. She was both confused and excited. The ones begging their attackers to stop were Wardens, just as the ones fighting them were. They had come across an internal conflict, and all the sudden, Evelyn had hope. The Wardens that had spoken before were clearly against the ritual Erimond was trying to perform, and if _they_ could be convinced of the reality in this insanity, more could possibly do the same.

Unfortunately, just as Leliana had predicted, the mages were beyond help.

Once they were all dead, the Wardens stood ready to face another enemy. She could see fear and sadness in their eyes.

-Keep your distance!- One of the men was carefully stepping back while he pointed his sword at them, trying to prove that he did not want to fight, but that he would, should circumstances force him.

Stroud spoke before she could get a word in edgewise.

-Warden Chernoff, we are not enemies.- The Warden glanced at Stroud and recognized him immediately, his eyes going from familiarity to hate in an instant.

-Why should I trust _you_ , Stroud? You're a traitor to the Wardens! Clarel called for your death!

She realized this was not taking them anywhere and decided to intervene before it was too late.

-The Inquisition is here to _stop_ Clarel, _not_ to kill Wardens. If you fall back, you won't be harmed.

For a moment, the Warden doubted her words, and she held her breath, fearing they would decide to attack. But instead, after a few agonizing seconds, the man sighed dejectedly and lowered his sword.

-All right. My men will stay back. We want no part in this… Deal with Clarel as you must.- And off they went toward the entrance to cover any attempts to reach the Inquisition army through the gate.

Behind her, Stroud put a hand in her shoulder.

-Well said. I had hoped some of the Wardens would listen to reason.

She did not stop to answer. All she could do was run through a door and up a stairwell until she found the first wave of Inquisition soldiers trying to survive their climb on the battlements. That part was easy, and they managed to kill all the enemies, demons included, leaving their forces in a more favorable situation.

The problems came once they arrived at the battlements crossroads. It was a huge open space, where most walls intersected, and right in the middle they were waiting for them. Some of her soldiers were already fighting to save their lives, but they were more than they could take. A couple of her men fell before she could even get to them, victims of either the electricity whip of the pride demon, or by their own folly once the four despair demons got into their head, luring them to jump off the walls and to their deaths.

The moment the demons gathered _en masse_ , she began to lose focus. Reality kept shifting, the fortress going blurry, and a bizarre world took form in front of her eyes, where demons were crowding together in the hopes of reaching their world. She knew when they had defeated them; she felt Hawke's magic helping them, and even heard her own voice asking him to help her men on the battlements, but everything felt like a dream sequence, like she was both living it and watching it from outside her body.

But no matter what, she kept going. Later on, she would know that she fought another pride demon and even several despair ones, half a dozen rage, and more Wardens than she could count, but in that moment, she acted on instinct.

Once her forces had a cleared path through most of the fortress, she felt somewhat better, and even registered Cole's voice mumbling her own feelings, but she was unable to ask him to keep quiet. She felt Blackwall's hands lay on her shoulders and arms more than once, knowing she answered that she was fine every time he asked, and even spent a few precious seconds to look back at Solas, who was watching her keenly.

But everything was beyond her power to control. The Fade was pushing her away from this world, and each step closer to the Main Bailey made her feel she was less in her reality, and more in that of the demons'.

And then it all snapped back to her. After a few moments, she came back once they reached the courtyard, where Clarel and the Wardens were trying to open a rift. The same one that, after she and Blackwall turned the Wardens to their side, spat multiple demons to keep her occupied while Erimond ran pursued by Clarel, but not before leaving Evelyn with an additional problem.

 _-My master thought you might come here, Inquisitor! He sent me this to welcome you!_

And there it was. Corypheus's archdemon, or whatever it was, greeting her by breathing electrical charges that almost caught her and several men in its path. Luckily, the creature decided not to actively participate in the fight, throwing chunks of the wall at them with a punch of its tail and flying over them to strike a blow from time to time. It was worse than if they had to fight it openly. The fact that the creature lurked over them didn't help her nerves, and almost ominously announced that it had something in store for them later.

Nevertheless, she could not idle, waiting for the archdemon to strike, when the battle on the bailey was beginning. She tried to ignore the creature as best she could and concentrate on the demons that were advancing towards them.

The battle was not easy. Somewhere in her mind she remembered the blood and the deaths, the frantic sprints to help her companions stand up after the demons took them down, and even falling to the floor, breathing heavily and being hooked under her arms by a man in a robe who talked to her until she realized he was Hawke and managed to nod at him, reassuring him she was well enough to keep going.

That's when she felt it. Her mark burned her left palm intensely, almost as if begging her to release its power, and she was not in a clear enough state of mind to deny it.

It was as if someone had poured fresh water onto her feverish skin. A cool sensation ran through her body, invigorating it and carrying her consciousness back to her. She heard the demons shriek, and saw almost with perverse satisfaction how they clawed the floor in a futile attempt to remain in her world, while the rift she kept open with her raised hand sucked them through and carried them back to the Fade. Once the last one died or disappeared into their green vortex, she closed it forcefully, along with the one the Wardens had opened.

A big part of her relaxed after that, and she confidently ran through the fortress, gaining on them despite the archdemon revealing the reason it had waited before and trying to attack them through the openings in the walls.

They followed the Warden Commander to a half demolished watching point in the battlements, where Clarel had cornered Erimond. They reached them just in time to hear what seemed to be the last words of their fight, the Commander carefully stepping closer to Erimond, her staff in her hand as the magister laid on the floor in a fetal position.

-I will _never_ serve the Blight.

And then Corypheus' pet was there, horrifyingly enough, taking the woman in its jaws and flying away with her to the highest point of the fortress, only to then release her in mid flight, sending her back to the ground where she landed as a ragged doll.

Clarel was barely moving, almost twitching, trying to crawl away from the archdemon, which was clawing its way down the walls with the Inquisitor and her companions in its sight, forcing them to walk backwards while knowing full well that, a few feet away, there was nothing but a dark abyss.

The dragon was so concentrated on them that it did not see or hear Clarel roll onto her back while reciting the Warden's oath.

-In war, victory… In peace, vigilance...

She did not finish it... Clarel sent an electric shock straight at the creature's chest, making it lose balance and rush into them, saving itself from falling from the edge thanks to its wings, but leaving them running for their lives when the floor began to give in.

At first she thought they were going to make it. In a second, five people were running ahead of the collapsing stones, but then she realized Stroud was missing. She looked back and saw him trying to claw his way back to secure terrain and she ran to his aid. They managed to run again just before everything collapsed, taking all six of them down with it.

The last thing she remembered was extending her arms in front of her face in vain, trying to put anything between her and the bottom of the precipice, while the intense green light pulsing in her left palm blinded her to the approaching ground.

And Evelyn braced herself for an impact that never came…


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23: Lost, A Nightmare

-We yield! Mercy, ser, I beg you!

Cullen signaled his men to hold their advance. They had been combating non stop since he gave the order to attack hours ago. Too many men were lost, and a great deal more wounded, but apparently the fight was finally coming to an end.

He was in the Upper Bailey with the first line of soldiers, keeping the possessed mages at bay, trying to knock them out without having to kill them all in the vain hope they could come back to their senses and surrender. A large number of them had been taken into custody while still unconscious, imprisoned in one of the main rooms in the Fortress, where Dorian and Vivienne had laid glyphs to prevent them from taking action or escaping. Cullen had sent the few Templars that had joined the Inquisition, just in case some of the mages managed to bypass the magic seals and they needed to smite them. A long time ago, he would have joined them, but since he had given up on lyrium, he had lost most of his templar abilities.

Other people might have seen that as a huge loss. For Cullen, it was actually a blessing. As practical as they were in situations like this, the price to pay was far too extreme, and that's why he had planned on helping his fellow Templars do likewise, should they desire to follow his example… if he succeeded. The detoxification was a dangerous and exhausting path, but he had experienced some joys in it. The feeling of being so close to true freedom since he was a boy of eighteen, the relief of knowing that he no longer needed to be wary of going into a mission filled the dread for running out of lyrium if something came up, the support he was receiving from his colleagues, and from her... It was all worth it. And he wanted to share those feelings with anyone in the position he had been in, to help them recover once and for all.

But those were hopes for another moment; right now there was reality to contend with. He could only face the mages as any other soldier might, which is what he had been doing all this time, and particularly what had led him (and the 20 men at his side) to this situation.

The Warden in front of him was on his knees, and three more accompanied him in the same position. Each had an Inquisition soldier holding a blade close to their throats. The Wardens were able to talk, but any suspicious movement would end in their deaths.

-State your name,- Cullen said carefully while inspecting the men. They were covered in dirt and blood, all of them having trouble keeping their breathing steady, and a couple were visibly wounded.

-I'm Warden Chernoff. We came across the Inquisitor once you burst through the gates. We offered our surrender and have been helping the Inquisition ever since. I never trusted Clarel's ritual, nor that magister, Erimond. When our companions turned against us...- The man choked on his words with a whimper. His eyes turning to the ground, he whispered, -We've lost too much to this madness.

He was thinking of Michenne. He had begged the mage to come back safely, but to no avail. The Ritual Tower had been attacked, and no one had survived but Erimond. His blood boiled with that thought. The damn magister had made it out when so many others were lost, Michenne among them. He was unwilling to help Erimond before all this, but after that news and the manner in which the man had announced the deaths of his companions, as if they were less than nothing, he was now certain he would not be a pawn in his plans. Yet he hadn't run away; he had faced what had come, hoping to convince Clarel to stop this, but it had all been in vain. And when the mages became possessed, he'd known he had been right.

-Stand down.

The voice of the Commander of the Inquisition made him raise his head. For a second, he thought the man was talking to him, but when the soldiers holding them did just that, he realized the Commander had accepted his surrender.

-Did the Inquisitor say anything more?- Cullen was still cautious. He had no proof that these Wardens were on the level, but he didn't want to attack without provocation.

Warden Chernoff shook his head.

-Not much, ser. She told us you were here to stop Clarel, but you mean no harm to us, that if we fell back, we would not come to harm. We did, but when we saw the resistance you faced on the battlements, we came back to help.

Cullen's lip twitched before he could suppress a smile. Now he was _certain_ the man was telling the truth. It was just like Evey to take a siege and turn it into a rescue mission. _She is a powerful rogue, but her true virtue lies in her heart._

He nodded to the Warden and was about to give his men further orders when one young soldier came running as if all the demons in the Fade were on his tail.

-Commander, Ser,- he saluted, fighting to catch his breath, -The Wardens have laid down their weapons and are helping the Inquisition battle the demon army. Magister Erimond has been captured alive.

After this, the soldier fidgeted in place, but Cullen was so elated with the news that he didn't notice the man's unease. He nodded to the soldier and asked,

-Has the Inquisitor given any orders?

The boy lowered his eyes, and Cullen felt his heart stop and restart at a gallop. A troublesome vertigo took hold of him as he waited the few seconds that the soldier took to begin talking again.

-The magister summoned the archdemon to his aid… The Inquisitor followed, and...

He doubted again, and Cullen could not tolerate it, anymore. He closed the distance between them in three long strides and took the soldier's shoulders in his hands. He could hardly hear anything but his frantic heart pounding loudly in his ears.

- _Speak now!_ Where is she?!- He screamed in desperation.

The boy couldn't raise his eyes.

-…Soldiers r...reported there was an explosion, and a b...bridge collapsed on the higher l...levels of the fortress.- he paused for a second to gather air to him and control his stutter. -The Inquisitor and her men were on it.

Everyone fell silent in an instant. Cullen felt as if he was falling. He was still holding the boy's shoulders, and his grip tightened. The soldier filled the stillness with a final declaration:

-They are nowhere to be found.

In his life, Cullen had received many wounds. Some of them had left him prostrated in bed for weeks on end, balancing on the verge of life and death, fighting to keep life inside a thoroughly wrecked body. He had experienced more pain than most mortals. He had been tortured for weeks, taunted by demons, and wounded by invisible blades, blood magic tearing his flesh to mere shreds, along with his sanity. He had lost friends, companions, brothers in arms. He had felt the pull of Red Lyrium in Meredith's body and sword, igniting his blood as if it had transformed into lava within his veins. He had fought the giant statues of Kirkwall, and received many blows which had sent him flying dozens of feet in the air until he'd collided against the stone walls. He had broken almost every bone in his body, some even tearing his skin apart and showing through his muscles when they fell out of place. He had bled nearly all of his blood in a single battle on repeated occasions. He had endured inhumane punishments at the hands of demons and enemies alike. His body and soul were covered by the evidence of each and every one of those moments.

But nothing, not a single thing, had pained him the way this had.

She had died. She was lost to him and to the world. And he had been blissfully unaware of it, unable to do anything to save her.

He didn't know how he had gotten there, but Cullen found himself leaning against a wall, gulping for air as if a qunari had charged against his chest at top speed.

He thought about the torture he had endured in Kinloch Hold, and he almost laughed out loud. Until now, he had thought that was the worst thing a man could live through. Oh, how wrong he had been. A year spent in the claws of those creatures would be nothing in comparison.

She was gone. He would never hear her voice again, never see her smile, never feel her touch…

He didn't notice when three fingers broke as his fist hit the stone wall, nor the warmth of his blood running over his knuckles below the soft leather of his glove. Nothing would ever hurt again, save for this.

 _I'm here. I'm with you._

 _I'm not going to leave you Cullen. Not this time._

 _We should spend more time together._

Her words echoed in his mind, her tone soothing his mind for a moment, only to rip it all apart the second he realized he would not hear her voice again. He could almost feel her breath on his ear, her arms around him, her chest against his back, her warmth filling him, cradling his body while humming a soft tune.

She had never abandoned him; she was always there, smiling, giving him strength…

 _They are nowhere to be found._

The voice of the soldier traveled through his memory, imposing itself over the note of her song.

He lifted his head and looked at the man with hollow eyes.

-Her body...

The soldier looked confused, and Cullen gritted his teeth, trying to find some reason to keep himself from hurting the man, desperate to find the answers he was looking for.

-Did the soldiers see her body, or anyone else's?

The man started to open and close his mouth, as if he was a fish out of water. Cullen could not hold himself back. When he regained clarity once again, he was already gripping the man by the arms tightly, shaking him insistently.

-Did they _confirm_ their deaths?!- He almost screamed.

The poor boy shook his head and managed to stutter a ' _no'_ loud enough to be heard by the Commander looming over his face.

And then Cullen was gone.

Just as fast as he had grabbed the messenger, he had released him, making him stagger backwards in confusion.

-Taylor, gather fifteen of your men and get to the site of the collapse! Look for _any_ trace of the Inquisitor or her companions! Kendrick, inform Varric of Hawke's disappearance, but try not to raise panic in the ranks! Dylon, take the rest of the men and gather the provisions we'll need to assist any wounded they find. And you,- he turned to the man that had delivered the news, -come with me.- He raised his head and looked around him at all his men. - _Now!_

The poor fellow that had been Cullen's main focus asked nervously,

-But Ser, what about the magister?

-The Inquisitor will decide his fate.

No one dared contradict him.

While running toward the higher part of the fortress with Dorian, Cullen was desperately trying to collect himself. The fact that nobody had seen the Inquisitor's body gave him hope. For what he could gather from the soldier's story, no one had actually seen the group fall; they had only known she had gone there, and had run there themselves when they heard the bridge collapse. Once they'd arrived, they couldn't find the Inquisitor or her companions anywhere, and had assumed the worst. But there was no proof. Nothing beyond a small piece of bloodied, ragged fabric that had snagged on a sharp stone on the collapsed bridge. That could well be from anyone, even Erimond himself, the product of a misstep during the confrontation.

Dorian's chuckle called his attention. Still running, he turned to glare at the mage with murderous eyes.

-I'm sorry, it's just that this is ridiculous! I mean, how can they possibly believe she's dead?- he huffed breathlessly. Cullen thought it might have to do with the fact that he was running and talking at the same time, but considering he was also carrying on in a strange manner, his voice rising to a high pitch from time to time, he doubted it was merely that. -Can you _imagine_ the waste of time and resources? Andraste saved her and granted her the power to close the rifts, then she asks her Maker to keep an eye on her, and the god just goes, 'Whoops, my bad', and lets her die? If she were dead already, we would be able to hear Andraste berating her husband with righteous anger. And probably kicking him out of the bedroom to sleep in the couch, -he winked and laughed almost hysterically.

They heard an audible gasp from a few steps ahead only a second before the poor boy that was guiding them tripped and staggered, almost greeting the floor with his whole face. He kept his balance after a few wobbling steps, though, making Cullen's attempt to catch him completely unnecessary.

-Whoa, there! Easy boy, don't worry. The Maker is probably trying to avoid His Bride because He got Evey into trouble, and He's too busy to strike us down for blasphemy,- the Tevinter added.

The positive, carefree and scandalous attitude of the mage was contagious, and allowed Cullen to reinforce his need to deny she was truly gone. He began to laugh with Dorian while considering the Tevinter's theory.

A few feet ahead, the Commander decided Dorian made total sense.

Evey was the Herald of the Maker's Bride, no matter how much she doubted it, and it would be preposterous to save her from the explosion at the Conclave, only to let her fall to her death in battle. Not even the possibility of turning her into a martyr would work, considering that, without her, the world would come to an end in very short order. With Corypheus as a ruling god, who would fight in the name of Evelyn Trevelyan? Speaking from a practical point, even if he left the sentimental aspect of it all aside (hard as it was) the Maker would never let her die if she was the only one with the power to close the rifts and save Thedas. Without her, they were doomed. It was, as Dorian had put it, a waste of time and resources.

 _Wasn't it? Wasn't it?_

When they reached their destination, he and Dorian kept running until they reached the tarnished edge of the collapsed bridge, while the poor boy stayed behind, doubled over and trying to catch his breath. Subconsciously, Cullen made a mental note about the recruits' lack of endurance and the need to remedy that as soon as they got back to Skyhold.

They could hear the soldiers below, already working on clearing the demolition, carefully moving rocks, and scouting the area for any sign of the Inquisitor or her companions. From the edge of the bridge, there were five ropes that dropped to the terrain below, where a handful of soldiers had climbed down to inspect the surrounding area.

The stones in the bridge had steep gouges so deep that, even without the soldier's explanation about what happened, anyone could have guessed the archdemon had clawed its way back up before flying away when Clarel struck it with her magic.

Both Cullen and Dorian were low on their haunches to study the claw marks when the boy reached them.

-Commander, Ser... Here.- In his hand was the piece of fabric, one they had told him was found near the edge of the bridge.

Cullen took it with a nod of acknowledgment at the boy. He was about to show it to Dorian, but when he raised his head, he saw the mage staring at him, as pale as a ghost. The tevinter tried to raise his hand to take the fabric from Cullen, but he lost balance and fell to the stone floor in an inelegant and uncharacteristic manner, completely contradicting his usual nature.

Sitting on the floor, he once again extended a trembling hand toward the Commander, his whole body swaying like a leaf in the winter wind.

A foreboding feeling formed a lump in Cullen's throat, making it difficult to swallow despite the overwhelming need to stave off the sudden dryness of his mouth.

-Dorian?- He croaked, -What is it?

At first, the Tevinter didn't answer, taking the cloth and almost cradling it in his hands. Tearful, he turned to the boy and asked in hushed whispers,

-Where did you get this?

-It was caught on one of the stones at the edge of the bridge when we arrived.- The poor man was talking as if he was confessing a crime.

-What does it matter? It's _Erimond's_ ,- Cullen practically yelled. He was pleading for confirmation. That piece of evidence needed to be from the magister. For all Cullen cared, the damned bastard could be naked and bleeding from every pore, so long as he survived enough to receive his judgment.

And then Dorian's eyes sparkled. For a split second, Cullen thought it was the typical glow in the mage's eyes whenever he had come up with something extremely funny or clever to say, something that would inevitably turn Cullen into a blushing and stuttering fool. That brief illusion made his heart swell in relief, only to be struck down as though by lightning when he saw the tear rung down the Tevinter's cheek.

That sparkle was not due to happiness. It was the reflection of light upon his unshed tears.

A soft voice, one that he would have never ascribed to Dorian, whispered,

-It's Evey's…- He was staring down at the bloodied cloth, allowing his tears to fall freely. -It's from her sash. I used to tease her about the roughness of the fabric. I showed her thousands of alternatives, but she never listened…- He dropped his face in his hands over the stained cloth and openly wept over it.

For a few seconds, Dorian seemed to be making the only sounds in all the fortress. Long forgotten were the clashing of swords from the surviving soldiers battling the demons, or the uproar of the rescue workers below them. The only thing that registered in Cullen's mind was Dorian's initial recognition. He didn't hear the explanation about the origins of the fabric, nor why Dorian so readily recognized it. The fact that he did at all, and that he was heartbroken, was the only proof he needed.

Almost absentmindedly, he rose to his wobbling feet and walked away.

When his forehead hit the wall, it was as though he had opened the hatch retaining his every memory. He felt a stabbing pain in his chest, as if his heart had convulsively shrunk for a second, only to grow three times its original size, the next beats leaving his body with a lack of circulation in his limbs.

At last, he remembered the dream he'd experienced whilst riding to Griffon Wing Keep. The one that had made him completely unaware of his surroundings, struggling to remember what had shaken him so.

He had dreamt of Evey fleeing desperately, only to fall into the hands of the demons of Kinloch Hold, screaming and fighting until her body gave in and she fell to the floor, covered in blood as if she was a ragged doll. Broken. Delusional. Agonizing. And he could do nothing but watch from behind a force field while life escaped her body little by little, drop by drop, to the rhythm of the demons' mockery. Dozens of them impersonated her slow decent into death, stabbing her with blazing spears, only to reopen her charred skin with sharp blades, biting her flesh and moaning at the feel of her blood running down their jaws.

Evey's screams in his mind drowned out any other sounds he may had heard.

He never heard Dorian tear the fabric apart, a stubborn look in his eye as he got back up. Nor when he tried to use the ropes to climb down as the boy warned him it was too dangerous to keep descending like that, lest he put weight on the potentially trapped people beneath the stones. He didn't pay attention to the screams from the Tevinter, calling for Evey frantically, or denouncing that the Inquisitor was not dead, _could not_ be dead.

Furthermore, he couldn't hear Rylen calling him in the distance, from the hallway leading to them.

With his head against the wall opposite to the bridge, Cullen felt his heart shatter in two.

In that moment, his soul filled to the brim with so much despair, and the only thing he managed to do was touch a glove to his cheek when the wind picked up, causing him to feel a cold path falling from his eyes.

It was the first time he had cried since he was just eight years old.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24: The Aftermath

Cullen was once again running, this time in the opposite direction. His body was a tuned machine, working all in tandem, and his heartbeat set the rhythm of his steps, long and hasty to reach his destination. His breath accompanied them in perfect harmony with the throbbing pain from his broken hand. And his mind directed the whole orchestra, chanting over and over in his head, "She is not dead. She is safe. She came back," a holy tercet that seemed to inject life into him, encouraging his legs to push harder, to close the distance that separated him from this almost too wonderful reality before the joy vanished in the Void, mocking him for daring to place his hopes on what was all just a dream in a feverish night of a long life without her.

At first, he hadn't quite registered what Rylen was telling him. Cullen had looked at him, turning his head to the side and watching the Captain as he spoke, but the words didn't reach his ears. The other man had been talking, repeating the news he had come to deliver time and time again, but Cullen was absent, trying to gather the strength to do his job and not fail her beyond how far he had already. But after what seemed like an eternity, his head had turned again, staring at the floor and discovering that his eyes had begun to spill new tears, thankfully away from Rylen's line of sight.

After the Knight Captain had realized that making his Commander acknowledge him was a waste of time, he'd gone to Dorian. With the mage, everything was simpler. First of all, Rylen didn't owe the Tevinter any loyalty, and secondly, he weighed considerably less than Cullen, mainly due to the fact that, instead of heavy armor like the Commander, the Tevinter only used eccentric and scanty clothing, which he insisted on calling "robes". So Rylen had been perfectly free to take the man by the shoulder straps and force him to stand up, immediately grabbing him by both arms and pulling him near his own face, so the mage's vision had been completely filled with him, and only him. When Dorian had finally focused in on his presence, Rylen had looked at him and repeated the news:

-The Inquisitor and her friends stepped out of a Rift in the Main Bailey! She sent the last of the demon army through the rift and saved us all!

Dorian had seemed lost at first, as if he was speaking in another language. The Captain then tried a more direct approach.

-Ser, the Inquisitor is _alive!-_ He'd emphasized the last word to see if that would make Dorian understand.

At first it hadn't worked either, and just when he'd thought he would have to punch the man to see reason, Dorian's eyes became clearer, as if a fog had lifted from them.

The moment the mage had left his side, running desperately toward Cullen, Rylen hunched over and breathed deeply in relief, holding his thighs for support. As he'd raised his eyes again, he saw Dorian shaking Cullen vigorously. Once again, the Commander could not seem to comprehend what the other was saying. Even worse, it was impossible to know if Cullen had recognized who was talking to him. He'd just stood there, directly in front of the mage, who probably had forced him away from the wall, looking lost.

-Oh for the love of...!- The mage had sighed indignantly, and his hands sparkled momentarily, releasing small tendrils of electricity that left his hands to shoot up Cullen's arms.

That at last had brought the Commander back to this world. Dorian had taken the other man's face between his hands and put his own nose so close to Cullen's that for a second Rylen had thought he was going to kiss him, but instead the mage had looked directly into his eyes and, smiling widely, repeated:

-Cullen! She is alive; they came back!

Just as it had happened with Dorian, Cullen's eyes had come back to life, the painful fog burning off entirely from them. A second later, the Commander of the Inquisition was standing in front of his Captain, fully aware and back to business.

A short interrogation had revealed to Cullen where the Inquisitor and her group had gone, and he hadn't wasted another second before he began running as though an archdemon was chasing him.

Now, though, the road out to the fortress and to the temporary camp seemed endless. Every time he made a turn in this race, the bloody building seemed to have grown, purely to keep him purposely away from his destination.

Once, those hallways had probably being wide enough to give way to three man walking comfortably side by side. Instead, the debris that the trebuchets' attack had left behind, along with the makeshift roadblocks the Wardens had used as cover during the siege, were barely allowing even a small group safe passage.

The amount of dead bodies, both fellow Inquisition soldiers and wardens alike, and the innate necessity to avoid them, either by jumping over them or trying to go around them in order to respect the fallen, made their slow advance even more inconvenient. And even though Cullen would never dream of disrespecting their sacrifice, enemy or ally, the delay that ensued was unnerving.

Finally, they reached the entrance and, in his haste, Cullen almost jumped off the bridge in front of the main gate to gain some time back. Fortunately, his good judgment prevented him from risking a broken a leg in the stunt, and with a last ditch effort to placate his anxiety, he ran the last stretch of the fortress faster than before.

The camp was in complete chaos. Whether it was due to the Inquisitor's return, their great victory, or the fact that they were still struggling to treat the injured and save the dying, was difficult to say. Some were running in and out the fortress and tents, their hands filled with medical supplies. Others were lighting fires and heating water, either in small pots to treat injuries or in bigger cauldrons to cook a late meal. The rest were talking or helping to secure the area and the prisoners of war. Cullen had not had time to give orders regarding how to deal with the latter, but he trusted Rylen's judgment and knew that his Captain shared his (and the Inquisitor's) opinions on the humane treatment of a defeated army.

When he reached the outer walls, Cullen slowed his steps and turned to ask Rylen where to go. But the Captain did not allow him the opportunity, instead running past him and heading to a big pavilion, where he could only assume the Inquisitor and her party were recovering from their mission.

Cullen and Dorian almost bumped into each other at the tent's entrance, forcing the flaps open until a small tearing sound made them realize soberly that the sun bleached fabric could only take so much emotion at once.

Four people were inside. Solas was leaning for support on his staff, his face as blank and unreadable as always. His clothes were stained with blood, and one of his footwraps had been damaged, hanging from his foot, which was now in the air as he attempted to secure the wrap back in place. Blackwall was standing next to Hawke, looking at the floor as if he had found something incredibly interesting and could not focus on anything beyond that. His armor had new dents and scrapes, and most of his face was covered in blood, pouring slowly from a small gash in his temple, his sword arm covered in what looked to be a nauseating, yellowish fluid. If someone had asked any onlooker what they saw when looking deeply at the warden, they would have said that he appeared to be trying to hide his face in shame. In contrast, Hawke was standing proudly, staring straight at the two of them. His clothes were also thoroughly stained, both in the yellow substance and in crimson blood, but he was the mirror opposite of Blackwall, nevertheless. Hawke was not cheerful, nor exactly smiling, but the gleam in his eyes prompted the expression perfectly. And yet his knuckles around the staff were white from his tight grasp, as if he was wary of lowering his guard.

A pitiful whimper called the attention of the two newcomers to a shivering pile of ragged clothes in the darkest corner of the tent. The fifth member of the group had been as good as invisible thus far, and if not for the fact that on top of the pile of rags laid Cole's signature hat, they might have thought that the Inquisitor had offered refuge to a small, wounded, and traumatized animal. The boy's hands were painted in dark blood, a deeper scarlet than the others displayed since his stains had apparently dried, while the others had been fresh. Cole was gripping his shins and mumbling out small whimpers, rocking his body back and forth in the midst of a breakdown.

All of this registered subconsciously in Cullen's mind, for he had eyes only for Evey.

She was the only one sitting aside from Cole. The war trunk filled with swords that acted as her makeshift seat had served one army or another for more years than anyone could account for, and yet it looked in far better states than she. Evelyn Trevelyan looked... defeated.

…As if all hope had vanished.

She was leaning over one leg, her right elbow piercing her thigh and her hand supporting the weight of her head, which seemed to only be slightly lowered due to her position, and she didn't have the will left to remedy it. She had several injuries, but none seemed especially dire. Her clothes were likewise ripped to shreds, and the part of the sash where the torn fabric that Dorian still held was perfectly visible. The thing had taken the rip quite badly and was fraying in more than one place, its knot loose without that specific piece. Her shoulder was bleeding, and her eyes appeared red and swollen from spent tears, but aside from that and the desolate expression on her face, she seemed perfectly fine… physically speaking at least. Not that she wasn't a specialist in hiding grave injuries. Cullen automatically made a mental note to send the best healer to check on her, even if she didn't agree to it.

When the pavilion flaps loudly complained at their insistence of opening the exit beyond its capacity, she raised her head from her hand and looked directly at them. The moment her eyes made contact with his, Cullen felt a burning need to step forward and gather her in his arms for as long as she let him. She was alive, and _here_ , surrounded by the army to protect her from harm. There weren't any demons threatening their lives, nor an enemy left willing to immolate themselves in order to kill the head of their organization. For a while, short lived as it may well be, she was safe, and that notion filled Cullen's heart with so much joy that his legs moved without his order.

He had taken only the first step forward when he heard a deep sigh, followed closely by a bump to his right shoulder as Dorian walked past him and knelt two steps before her, sliding on his knees the rest of the way, not even caring if he dirtied or tarnished his expensive trousers. Coming from Dorian, that alone was enough to show everyone how much he cared for her.

Cullen stopped in his tracks like he had been frozen on the spot by some invisible magic. He was watching Dorian, both grateful that the mage prevented his potential outburst, and envious of the Tevinter's close familiarity with her.

Dorian was hugging her tightly against his chest now, stroking her hair and pulling back from time to time just to look into her eyes, as if he was trying to convince himself that she was truly real and had not vanished from existence when his eyes lost sight of her.

After he finished his silent worshiping, he took her by the arms and leaned her back again.

-You do realize I have new wrinkles because of you? I can't afford that at such a young age!

She smiled absently, almost as if she was forcing herself to reciprocate the love Dorian was showing behind his complaint. The mage seemed to read her mood, but either didn't want to acknowledge it in order to force her to overcome it, or he didn't feel like stepping over their usual dynamic. Be that as it may, he tucked his hand in his pocket and produced the ragged patch of fabric missing from her sash.

-And _this_ is what you chose to leave behind? A dastardly cheap piece of cloth that you know drives me insane? Do I need to remind you that ladies leave glass slippers in their wake, and _not_ a disgraceful, torn up dishrag?

The mere image of the Inquisitor running towards the entrance of a fortification like Adamant with a battering ram as a companion while donning a pair of glass slippers would have made her laugh uncontrollably at any other time.

This time, however, it barely made her chuckle for the briefest of moments. Again, it sounded empty.

That was when Cullen felt deep down that Evelyn had lost more than what Rylen had reported.

oOo

Cullen woke up with a start. Something had pulled him out of the Fade abruptly, as it had every day of the last week since they had gone back to Skyhold. It wasn't something Cullen was unused to already. Once, when he was but a child back in Honnleath, he used to sleep so soundly that his siblings would bet on how long it would take him to wake up, after they of course made sure to provide an uninterrupted source of loud sound or movement, near or on his bed.

But things had changed since leaving home. As a Templar recruit, Cullen was conditioned to keep his sleep as light as possible, adjusting it to reinforce the security of the region in which he was resting. With time, not even on Kinloch Hold's fourth floor, which belonged exclusively to the Templar Order and housed their training rooms and private quarters, could he manage to fall into a deep slumber. The tiniest sound, smell, or sensation triggered his consciousness back to reality, and to business.

After the Circle fell, things had not improved. Cullen was ever since a perpetual victim of the most horrid nightmares, memories, and perverted, warped versions of his deepest fears, the flashbacks of the torture he'd survived at the hands of the Uldred's demons a constant reminder that he was scarred for life, no more than a damaged man, at best.

Despite the unforgiving terrors that had molded his ability to sleep lightly, he had been grateful for it, even to the point where he grew suspicious if he ever managed to sleep deeply, fearing he might have missed something important while dead to the world.

And this time was no exception.

He was wide awake even before he could register the sound of a particularly high pitched neigh, traveling from the yard and into his loft.

It was not unusual for the horses to whinny during the early morning hours, but the sun had not risen, yet. In fact, it was a full hour away from even getting close to the horizon, and the tone in the horse's complaint was not completely normal. That animal was being forced against his will into something he clearly did not want to do. He raised from his bed and peered through the window in the direction of the stables. A shadowed figure was trying to lead Evey's Free Marches Ranger to the yard, and the horse was stubbornly opposing them.

There was no doubt the person in question was the Inquisitor. No matter how much she wanted to disguise herself under that black, hooded cloak, Cullen would recognize that gait anywhere. She had a particular way of walking when she was trying to move furtively that was practically iconic of her. Watching her, one would swear she was barely touching the ground, somehow managing to glide over the terrain instead of walking directly on it. It was an admirable ability, and a wasted one when her horse was not cooperating.

All the stealth in the world would not save her from the Ranger's obstinacy. The animal was adamant that he didn't like what she was up to, and was making sure she knew it.

When her mount pulled the reins in the opposite direction of where she was painstakingly leading him, Evey apparently gave up. She released the animal and walked until she was face to face with him. Cullen watched as she leaned into the horse's snout and caressed his neck, convincing him to give in and follow her, and not without a little reticence on his part if the kicks in the dirt he made from time to time were any indication.

With the accompanying sound of the horse's hooves on the planks of the wooden drawbridge, heralding Evey's departure from Skyhold, Cullen felt a growing wariness.

In the last week, he had woken up after one noise or another that Evey had made in the courtyard below, always in front of the stables near the stone stairway that lead to the kitchen, where she had been training every morning since they came back from the Western Approach. Every day, she had begun early in the morning, culminating in today's incursion, before the sun had come up.

Her new routine would have worried most of her friends if they had known, but Cullen suspected that the reason she had chosen that spot in particular was because it was secluded, and not usually an area where anyone trained. Plus, the only one who may be able to hear her there was supposedly Blackwall, and as far as Cullen understood, when in Skyhold, the Warden slept so deeply he could compete with his younger self back at Honnleath.

Every morning, she hung an old wooden torso stand from a tree branch and trained with it, precisely stabbing it while it swung back and forth as if it was a real enemy moving towards her. She usually stayed there for an hour, or until she could hear the first sounds that marked the fortress habitants' awakening and beginning of their daily chores. Then, drenched in sweat and with a painful and grave look on her face, she would unhook her target and take it with her inside the keep through the kitchens. After that, she used to disappear for an hour only to reemerge, bathed and refreshed as if nothing had happened and donning a perfectly amenable facade, as if it were an Orlesian mask, one that Cullen saw right through.

He knew the meaning of each stab and slash, every pierce and plunge. She was trying to shut her mind to reality, to exorcise the demons that plagued her psyche and deprived her of any rest. He and the other advisors had read her report of what had happened in the Fade. Most of her companions had tried to comfort her, and those who had joined her, through what they had experienced. And all of them had procured any excuses they could muster to distract her from what was obviously weighing on her spirit.

But nothing had worked. Day after day, Cullen saw the futility of their attempts. Evey was walking the same path he once had, tragically taking the same turns and roads that were more likely to lead to desperation than to freedom. He knew he had to do something for her, but feared that he might drive her further away by letting her know he had shared her new secret with the few guards on watch, who also observed her training at dawn.

Shutting himself down and allowing bitterness to gain a foothold was the biggest mistake Cullen had made back then, and he once justified it by telling himself that he had no one trustworthy to rely on. Evey had quite a few friends that she could find solace in, but still she had so far decided to weather the storm all on her own.

Cullen was torn. He could follow her. No matter how amazing her furtive abilities were, between the reticence of her horse and the soft layer of mud that covered the grounds near Skyhold after the night dew had moistened the dirt on these warmer spring mornings, it would not be difficult to find her tracks and keep an eye on her from a distance. On the other hand, interfering with her affairs could cause him to lose the confidence he had worked so hard to build with her.

Cullen paced while considering his options. He could wait for her here, casually bumping into her on her way back, approaching the subject as something of minor importance, perhaps nonchalantly mentioning the strangeness in finding her up and back from a ride at this early hour..., or whatever the hour she came back might be...

He stopped in his tracks, almost laughing at how ridiculous his idea was. She would see right through something like that. Evey knew him well enough to know he was not skilled at small talk, especially when he inevitably redirected the conversation to what could easily be misconstrued as gossip hunting.

In the darkness of his room, Cullen shook his head and sighed heavily. He knew what he had to do. Deep down, there was never really any doubt in his mind, but he wanted to avoid a confrontation with her. Still, he knew he shouldn't (and couldn't) leave her to her luck. He cared too much for her to just stay out of it while she fell headlong into desperation. No, he had to intervene, even if she was angry with him, called him names, or accused him of being nosy and annoying. He didn't care even if she fired him from his position, though it would hurt, of course. Here, he had found a purpose, and it warmed his heart to know he was working to build a better future, to prevent that horrifying vision she'd experienced with Dorian coming to fruition, but if it meant he could stop her from walking straight for her own self destruction, he would pack his things and steel his heart to leave Skyhold for good.

No matter what, Evelyn would hear him.

oOo

Half an hour had passed before he arrived at the valley.

As he had predicted, following her trail had been simple enough. She had taken precautions to walk over the firmer terrain and onto the scattered patches of dried grass, and though it hadn't been obvious at first, the hoof marks were perfectly visible. She had probably covered her own tracks without realizing it, done by force of habit instead of real care for hiding her departure, especially considering she had not walked too deeply into the forest, instead choosing the first open valley where select soldiers trained to become the Inquisition's cavalry.

Seanna, Dennet's daughter, had built a course for racing horses similar to the one she had back home on her father's land the last time she had visited Skyhold with her mother. It had been a requisition from Evey herself, who had explained the importance of the discipline. If their soldiers, or at least their knights, managed to fight from horseback, they'd have a significant advantage over the enemy's foot soldiers. She was right of course, and Cullen had seen to it that Rylen and other selected knights in their ranks trained at least three times a week until they became skillful enough to comfortably fight from their horses.

What Cullen didn't know until now was that Evey had evidently asked the young woman to design the course in a way that a few small and careful changes in the targets' positions would turn the beginners track into a more complex one... One worthy of a Trevelyan's abilities.

Looking at her, he remembered the early reports that Cassandra had sent him after the first times the group had ventured into the Hinterlands about Evey's fighting style. She had mentioned a particular set of skills that he had never seen the Inquisitor perform in his presence. Apparently, Evey could throw knives while riding with the same bone chilling precision she displayed on solid ground, equally comfortable on her horse's back or on her own feet as if it made no difference at all. An ability only fitting of her family name.

Now, it was his opportunity to witness her in all her deadly glory.

She had lit a couple of sconces on the side of the track and a few small torches above the targets attached to the trees. All that fire gave the valley an otherworldly look. She seemed surrounded by that blaze, lightened by that warm light that emphasized her golden hair and brought the subtle green hue of her eyes to the fore, like her gaze was burning along with the flames.

All her movements were scrupulously controlled, so in tune with her body and her weapons that Cullen could hardly avert his eyes. She never failed on a single target, though she didn't hit them all in the center either, and she changed her position on the horse's back so often that no one would believe she didn't have stirrups to help her, or a saddle to hold on to.

And yet, even though she was more graceful than any other rider Cullen had ever seen, she wavered from time to time, pausing for too long before throwing a dagger, or holding the horse's mane too tightly for the animal's liking. Small details that others may not notice, but that Cullen was trained to pay attention to. Being a Commander of an army had not come without some quirks on its back, and Cullen had become more demanding in the training of the men under his care. He could watch a fighting style for a few minutes and identify when the soldier had hesitated, and if the technique he was witnessing was one of his specialties, he could even point to precisely when the failure had occurred.

This was not an area of expertise for him, but Cullen could see Evey was not moving as securely as she should. From time to time, she was clumsy, and even amateur, if one was paying enough attention to the small details. Even without her huffing and muttering, he would have known she was failing at meeting her own standards.

But despite throwing her knives more and more furiously each time she failed to strike a bullseye, it turned out she had not even begun to reach the peak of her frustration, that morning.

When she finished a particularly tricky section of the track and kicked her horse with her heels with a scream, encouraging the beast to gallop frantically towards the last target, many things happened simultaneously.

The animal screeched and charged forward, surprising his rider (another thing that shouldn't have happened. Evey was more than capable of remaining calm in the most outrageous situations while on horseback). The Inquisitor did not waste a second after her momentary astonishment and, in what seemed to be a deftly movement, pulled out one of the lasts daggers still attached to the side of her belt. Immediately, she raised one knee over the horse's back and pulled herself up to kneel on it while keeping balance. Three strides later, she lowered part of her right leg on the left side of the animal and sat on her other foot to face the target partially on the side. The position was similar to those imposed on high born ladies when riding a horse, but instead of just dangling her legs on one side of the animal, she had left one below her and the other against the horse's ribs. Absently, Cullen imagined an adolescent Evey modifying the ancient and respectable position to use as a fighting technique, scandalizing a group of noble guests at her father's house.

The movement was so quick and so natural that it may have been flawless, if not for a single mistake. When they were approaching the target, she turned her waist, raising her left arm to calculate the distance and the angle to throw the knife while she flipped the blade in her right hand, ready to hurl it toward its destination. But instead of catching the weapon by its handle, she closed her index finger and thumb over the blade instead, instantly drawing blood and forcing her to throw the dagger without concern of its destination in order to desperately try to keep her balance on the horse's back.

During the two strides that it took her to completely lose her grip on the mane, which she had clutched at the last second before her fall was inevitable, Cullen felt a stab of panic. He dared not move, driven by the irrational fear that any movement by him would contribute to her fall. It was ridiculous and he knew it, but he found that he was unable to do anything but stare as she lost her footing and fell inelegantly to the ground with a thud that made Cullen's heart jump to his throat.

Her horse was incredibly careful not to step over her, but even as the poor animal stumbled and hurdled to avoid her, he was not completely successful, and unintentionally kicked her in the side with his back hoof, neighing so highly that anyone else would have believed that he had been struck in the ribs instead of her. When he saw this unfold, Cullen could have sworn he felt the same pain as she in his side, the sight of her on the ground the only reason why he didn't take his hands to his own ribs.

The Free Marcher Ranger stopped his race a few feet away, running back the second he managed to stop, and checked on his fallen rider. Cullen did exactly the same, racing to and reaching her before the animal, falling on the valley floor by her side, his arms ready to hold her and, if need be, carry her back to Skyhold.

Before he could touch her, though, she screamed in frustration and slammed her fist into the dirt with a strength that should have splintered her hand. Then she doubled over to the earth beneath her until her forehead touched the grass.

Frozen in his place, his hands inches away from her, Cullen watched impotently as her back began to lurch with the convulsive rhythm of her silent weeping.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25: The Demons We Carry

-Evey…

He pronounced her name with such care that his voice surprised even himself. Cullen was not a man with a slew of romantic memories, but not even in his greatest hour he had whispered the name of a woman with such tenderness. Seeing her at her lowest was a wonderful, yet unwanted gift. He couldn't stand seeing her like this, and the realization that there existed no magic potion to make her feel better weighed on him, giving his voice and movements a touch of grief.

Slowly, with his calling, his hand crossed the distance between them to caress her back in an effort to sooth her, but again she didn't give him the chance. The moment her name fell from his mouth and his hand found her, she brushed him away.

-No!- She stood up immediately, as if his hand had burned her.

Cullen could not help but think that her words too closely resembled true rejection, even though he knew her response was normal for her situation. Even after he reminded himself that she would react this way no matter who touched her, it still pained him.

She scooped up her dagger, laying only a few inches away from Cullen's crouched form, and left to retrieve the others from her targets, mumbling unintelligibly. Her whole body was as tense as a bowstring, moving fast and sharp, as if she was trying to slice the air as she passed through it.

Cullen rose and took a few cautious steps closer to her. His heart was breaking at seeing her air her frustrations in this way... The worst way.

-Evey, please… Talk to me,- he frowned, pushing away a sudden desire to grab her, even against her will, and hold her tight until she let everything go, emptying her soul of the burden she was carrying, all in the safety of his arms. He had hoped his tone, careful yet empathic, would be enough to calm her and think things through, but it wasn't.

When he spoke, she had stopped, still giving her back to him, and he could see perfectly how her grip tighten around the dagger hilt. She turned then, eyes alight with an unspeakable rage that was unexpectedly directed at him.

- _Talk_?! You want me to talk?!- She was practically biting him with her words. -Well, how about I tell you all about the last time I fell from a horse? How does that sound?- She had made a pause, but not long enough for him to regain his ability to speak. Cullen was sure he had never seen her so furious, and he never would have thought she'd look at him with such contempt. Something about her demeanor made him dead certain that nothing would ever be the same after this.

He recognized the symptoms: the disdain in her voice and eyes, the hate that oozed from every pore, the tightness and stubbornness with which she was holding her weapon. Evelyn was in desperate need of refuge, but she was refusing to accept any help, even though she knew she needed it, and despite the fact that, for those who knew where to look, she was begging to be defied and comforted.

However, the way she looked at him still hurt. He was not sure if the pain derived from seeing her in such a state, or from not being able to break through the walls she had built up around her. He felt desperate, and swore to himself that if he could not help her, he would never forgive himself.

-I was seven, and I was riding a _pony_!- She emphasized the last word to make sure he got the irony of it. She walked briskly to the other target. -Or maybe you'd rather hear about my range accuracy? I haven't had _this_ lame a performance in about ten years! -The performance she was referring to was nothing to be ashamed of. She had missed the center of each target for no more than a couple of inches, give or take, but for her it was inadmissible. -Is that enough talking? Or do you want to discuss my failures further?- She shot a glance at him again, her rage raising, if that was even possible.

Cullen knew he had to gather all his patience to face what would come next and, sighing heavily, he answered her in a monotone that was the exact opposite to his last intervention, his words as detached as Solas' usually were.

-You know that's not what I meant.

She extended both arms as if she was going to bow, and looked at him sarcastically.

-Then, by all means, Commander, do tell what you mean. I have all the time in the world! It's not like my abilities get rusty with every single day I have to stay here doing absolutely _nothing_!

Evey threw the dagger she was holding at the nearest target, but missed it completely, burying the blade in the trunk of the tree instead. And at the very moment she saw that, the Inquisitor roared in frustration again and punched another tree nearby, drawing blood from her knuckles.

Cullen had seen enough. Patience has never been his strongest characteristic, anyway.

In four long strides, he reached her side and held her by the forearms. She fought like a wild animal avoiding a cage and punched him in the chest with both fists, screaming furiously, the red of her blood blending with the burgundy of the tunic he had chosen to wear that day.

-Let go of me!- She was obviously enraged that she was not able to free herself from his grasp, but more so at the disinterest the Commander was showing for her struggle. -Leave me alone!

After a full minute of allowing her tantrum to run its course, he shook her once aggressively.

-Listen to me! You can fight all you want. You can berate me. Hit me. Even stab me, if that's what you really want.- For a fleeting second, her infuriated expression changed to one of utter scandal, the mere idea of doing such violence against Cullen offending her. As quickly as it appeared, that brief vulnerability disappeared again under her stubbornness. Cullen almost smiled at that. He seized that moment to release one of her arms and place his palm on her neck, his thumb caressing her cheek. For a second, he let go of his self control and dared to lean forward slightly, closing his eyes as he whispered, -but know I'll never leave you.

He felt the weight of her head lean against his palm, and when he opened his eyes, relieved that she had relaxed to his touch, he realized that she was actually turning her face away from him. It just so happened that it had only felt as though she was relenting. Instead, Evelyn was frowning tightly and her jaw had set as if she was clenching her teeth.

He felt her rejection deeply, somehow more than had she taken up the suggestion of outright stabbing him.

In a strange way she was, actually.

He tried to say her name again, explain to her _why_ he was there, and what he expected of this encounter, but she beat him to it.

-What do you want, Cullen?- Her question was so quiet that, were he further away, he would have missed it completely.

His answer came by instinct, and Cullen could not have believed he would ever say it until it had left his mouth.

-You.

One word, just one simple syllable that would have reduced him to a stumbling idiot were they in any other situation, managed to freeze him on the spot and work miracles in her. She turned instantly to look at him, her eyes fully open, and for a time the silence ruled. He saw panic in them, missing completely the timid sparkle of hope that shone in the back.

He let his hand fall away from her face, but pierced her with his eyes.

-I want to help you. You can't keep doing this.- He moved his hand to her wrist and let it slide until he touched the back of her hand, forcing her to remember her outburst from a minute ago, and taking note of the tiny drops of blood staining his fingers. -You can't shut yourself to everyone. That won't help… I know that from bitter experience.- He sighed again and admitted, -I've never walked the Fade.

At mention of the surreal realm, she tensed. Continuing, he clarified,

-But I've been where you are now, and believe me, it leads to nowhere good. Don't ask me to just stand here and watch you walk the same path I did, because I can't. _I refuse_.- The last statement sounded like a promise and a plea at the same time. He was taking a vow, with her as his only witness, but he was also begging her to let him fulfill it.

She sighed heavily, and for a moment Cullen thought he had breached her defenses. But then she raised her arms and flipped her wrists to free herself from his grasp. She was not fighting anymore, but she was silently asking him to give her back her freedom. Reluctantly, he let her go and watched as she widened the distance between them.

-I thank you Cullen… I really do. But I don't need your help.- Her eyes drifted in his direction, but purposely avoided his own. Then she turned and walked to the saddle and reins, forgotten on the ground not far away.

Cullen let his head fall, defeated. He looked at the soil around his boots and caught sight of two blood drops next to the tree where they had been struggling with one another. Involuntarily, his hands closed to fists and he pressed them to the side of his body, bracing himself for what he was about to say.

-Eleven years ago,- he started, his voice barely carrying far enough to reach her, -I thought the same thing. I didn't need nor want anyone. I sought refuge in my career, my service...- He closed his eyes for a while, not even knowing if she was listening to him. -I made too many mistakes, and innocent people paid the price.

He turned his gaze, looking for her. Her back was to him, the reins in her bloody hand, completely motionless. Cullen dared to walk further until they where only a few inches apart, not touching her out of respect, but feeling each other's raw presence. He lowered his head as if he were going to rest it on her shoulder, but hovered just above it to speak directly into her ear.

-Uldred was dead, and as far as anyone was concerned, I was free.- Cullen paused to swallow, moistening his suddenly dry throat. -Only I wasn't.- He took a gulp of air. Each word was like lead, dropping the burden inside of him held for so long. Even though he hoped sharing this with her would lessen their collective guilt, her own misery was not allowing him any respite. -There are worse demons than those in the Fade, and they remain no matter where you run. They hunt you down, day and night, destroying everything you once thought certain. I forced myself to believe relocation would help. So I went to Kirkwall, praying my demons would stay in Kinloch Hold with the spirits of their victims. I thought distance would shut out their screams, would give me peace.- He let go a breathy laugh. -I didn't know I was taking them with me, and I chose to carry the burden alone. I never once confided in anyone, and I begged the Maker to make them leave me in peace… But they didn't. They've haunted me ever since, whispering in my ear, tainting everything I considered sacred.

She shuddered at the preciseness of the picture he was painting for her, and at everything she herself was feeling, the correlation too strong to deny. He tutted to himself, regretting once more the decisions he had made.

-I ostracized myself in the hopes of shutting the world from their grasp. The real demons vanished long ago, but their voices were branded onto my very soul. I couldn't just cast them aside; I thought no one could help me. If I had shared this with anyone, if I had seen what I was becoming because of it...- He sighed heavily, as though the confession had defeated him entirely. -If you let them in, if you give them the slightest opening and allow them to make themselves at home there, they'll never go away, Evey. They'll eat your every joy, they will _change_ you...- He clenched his teeth, which made his voice come off harsh. -I still carry mine with me. I fight them every day, and I would do anything to see that you don't have to do the same. Let me help you fight yours. Don't let them claim you, too.

She remained silent, so much so that he couldn't even hear her breathing. Her body was taut, rigid. The wind tousled her hair, making her look like a life statue. When she finally spoke, her words were barely audible, the rustling leaves nearly masking her voice.

-How can you be so sure that I'm even worth saving?

Cullen opened his mouth to answer, but she kept going.

-You read the report. I _chose_ to sacrifice Stroud's life to save my own neck!- Her volume was escalating quickly. -I left him to _die_ ,- she screamed through gritted teeth. She barely contained her rage and sorrow, but the way she began to shudder told Cullen that her wrath was not directed at him...

It was worse. She hated herself.

-It wasn't your fault… You didn't have a choice.- He tried so hard to be sure his words did not sound rehearsed, nor hollow.

At her bitter laugh, he realized he didn't succeed. She shook her head,

-How do you know that?- Her voice sound detached, as if she didn't care what his answer or justification might be. She had judged and condemned herself long before he'd intervened that morning.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. She shuddered and recoiled, but did not move away, allowing him this small contact.

-I know you. If there had been a possibility of saving him, you would have taken it. You would never have left him if it wasn't inevitable.

She turned, looking straight at him as if he were a stranger. Her brow was furrowed in confusion, and she watched his face as if trying to unravel a mystery. Then her sight fell just above his shoulders, to some far off point behind him to lay her focus instead. Her sight was lost beyond the woods and the morning, and if he knew anything about what it was that she suffered, he was sure she was looking at Adamant and the Fade in her mind's eye. Watching herself making that choice. Reenacting every step she had taken beyond their world. Agonizing over every decision she'd made that led her here.

Cullen could have pointed to the exact moment when her spirit faltered, when she relived the order that had sent Warden Stroud to his death, and the rest to victory. She flinched, her face a mask of despair and self revulsion, and then... doubt.

-I'm not so sure about that…- She didn't look at him again, but only remained there, staring at the distance behind him.

Cullen tried, and failed, to direct her gaze to him. Instead, he chose to use his voice as beacon, placing all the faith he had for her in his next words.

-I am.- He rested the remaining hand on her other shoulder, and this time instead of just cringing, she utterly exploited.

She pushed his arms first, and turned to shove his chest, stepping away hotly.

-You don't know what happened!- She glared at him, wrath pouring out of her, daring him to deny this, to tell her that he knew something he could never know.

Evelyn squinted and rubbed her forehead as if she was trying to explain everything, but at the same time shut out some unknown, stowaway presence, an intruder burrowing in her own thoughts.

-It wasn't Nightmare, it wasn't inevitable! It was _me_!- She punched her chest with her fist, splattering blood over the linen.- I panicked, Cullen! I didn't want to die, and I chose at random, threw the first scapegoat I could find to _save myself_! In that situation, anyone would do!

-Oh, really? Then ask yourself this question: if _anyone_ would do, _why_ Stroud?- She looked confused at his words, so he elaborated, -You reported that Hawke offered to stay behind, as well. Why not him? And for that matter, why not Solas or Blackwall? Or Cole?

-How should I know?!- she screamed fiercely.

-Because he was the _best_ choice,- he yelled back. She shook her head fiercely, as if trying to rearrange her thoughts and place what he had said where it made the most sense. By the looks of it, she couldn't find where it belonged.

Cullen sighed and ran a hand through his hair, dragging his fingernails all the way down to the back of his neck.

-Stroud's days were numbered. He told me that, and I know he told you, as well. The Calling, remember? He asked me to let him charge ahead of you at Adamant because, according to him, he was a man with nothing to lose.- He lowered his head, trying to catch her eyes.- You may not have known it then, but you chose Stroud for a reason, and I believe that was it.

She stared back at him as if she was looking at an innocent child whose beautiful bubble of fantasy she would have to break. She almost smiled sadly, the corners of her lips turning up in a pitiful shadow of what her smile once was.

-I wish I could believe that… I wished I was half the woman you think I am.

Her eyes were lost again, recalling the horrible events of that day.

-Back then, trapped in there like we were, I was someone you would have despised, someone _I_ hate. The darkest part of my soul took hold of me, guided me, whispered in my ear and fed my spirit with nothing but selfishness, cowardice, treachery. I became worse than the demons that taunt us.- Her brows drew together tightly, closing her eyes and raising her hands to grab her head. -I heard my own voice screaming in my head, telling me to run to the rift and to safety.- She was dragging her nails over her skull furiously, pacing back and forth again and again, her eyes desperately looking for an exit to a cage he couldn't see.- I couldn't stop myself when I called his name. I _wanted_ to call it. I felt lost, doomed, and… and I panicked!- She was trying to scream, but her throat was too hoarse from the pain.

When she lowered her nails to her forehead again, Cullen closed the distance between them and caught both her wrists, preventing her from doing any more harm. The second she felt his grasp, she lost all strength in her limbs, falling on her knees and taking Cullen with her.

Once on the ground, she lowered her forehead into their hands.

-I was…

-…Defenseless,- he finished for her.

The only proof he had that she had even heard him was a choked sob.

-You felt surrounded and still completely alone, oppressed, caged in, but at the same time, like you were standing in a desolate abyss, where you could scream and run for an eternity, and reach no end.- While he let it out, he leaned toward her until his forehead pressed against hers.

For a couple of minutes, they were quiet, kneeling in the grass, bowed heads and hands together at hearts height, as if in mid prayer. Then she whispered quietly, as though in confession, her voice still strained from barely contained tears that she stubbornly refused to spill.

-I tried to stay strong, fought against it, but it wasn't the demons. It was me… I was the one praying for their deaths in exchange for my life.- Cullen could hear the loathing she distilled every time she talked about herself. He knew what that level of abhorrence felt like; he still fought it sometimes, that deep hatred, that shame and disgust toward the sight of his own skin. She sighed a few times, each one deeper than the last, until it sounded more like a gulp for air. -And when it was all over, I felt as if _I_ had been lost in the Fade, too… As if the part of myself that everyone liked and knew best abandoned me forever to fight that nightmare with him…

She raised her eyes to him again. Even though she had contained her tears, her eyes were red and puffed from the strain.

-I still think that. I'll be staggering through reality, day after day, and a deep vertigo takes hold of me, as if I could trip and fall into the Void just trying to stay conscious.- Her eyes shone with raw panic. -I'm not as strong as you are, Cullen. I can't…

She choked on her words and the dam broke. She began to tremble uncontrollably, crying through the uncertainty silently. He saw how her heart broke, and did the only thing he could think of to comfort her.

Cullen held her to him and sat on the dewy grass, enveloping her waist and back with his arms, pulling her close until she was curled upon his lap, face buried in his chest, sobbing and mumbling incoherently while confessing all her fears and pains to his heart. Though he could not understand most of what she said, he didn't need to hear it. He knew what she felt, and could read it plainly in her trembling muscles, in every shudder of her body, in each tear that soaked his tunic, in every gasping pause she took to fill her lungs with air, desperate to clean her soul of the terror and doubt her demons had planted inside of her.

There, alone in the breaking morning, he cradled her broken spirit with a tenderness he never knew he possessed.

With her in his arms, he felt the world around them fade, his entire existence reduced to the woman in his lap, to the sound of her quieting cries and her thundering heart…

-Trust me, Evey… You can.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26: Orlais Awaits

-Do you feel better?

He spoke softly as she ran out of tears and started to breathe normally again. He moved her away from his chest, holding her face with both hands, his thumbs timidly caressing her cheeks and wiping away the tear tracks from her skin.

Her eyes were still closed, and she could feel his hair touching hers, blending in the tips where they touched like two different sets of gold, his shade a lighter wheat, whereas hers was as to the sun at dawn, as if the smallest fraction of copper had bestowed its hue in response to his light.

When he spoke, she felt his warm breath touch her lips almost as tenderly as she imagined his kiss would. She was still cradled in his lap over his thighs, where he had sat on the grass, opening his arms to her while he shielded her in her grief.

The pain was not gone. The demons still lurked inside, but he had made them retreat, their voices now mere whispers in the distance, now easily lost amidst the sounds of their surroundings. Each of the tears she had spilt on his shirt, close to his heart, had bored the name of a fallen soldier of Adamant, a life severed from existence, a weight added to her shame and guilt. Cullen had not tried to stop it, nor denied it. He didn't intervene or try to justify their absence to her. He just held her, gave witness to her pain and stoically endured this rare opportunity to watch over her without judging or attempting to amend it, just sharing it silently and tenderly, allowing the scale of her grief to be their requiem.

That, to her, had meant the world.

His touch, his company, and the certainty that he knew what she felt had given her strength, so much so that she almost didn't want to open her eyes when he spoke. But after a silence that felt too long, at last she did.

The moment her eyes met his, the amber of his gaze struck her. Not for the first time, he surprised her with his intensity, even though each time before she had sworn it could never be any stronger. It was as if he was trying to reach her innermost fears, luring them to a common ground where he had trapped his own demons, all in an effort to fight all of them singlehandedly, if only to free her from this turmoil.

She breathed deeply, suddenly feeling as though she had lost her breath just by looking at him, and the smell of parchment, leather straps, sunlight, and something that was only Cullen filled her lungs.

He did not avert his eyes from her for all the time it took her to answer, and the devotion she saw in him made her words falter.

The "yes" she tried to utter was lost under something that resembled a choked grumble, thanks to the hoarseness of her throat after she'd released all her pain in sobs. The oppression that had not lessened its grip around her neck, the heaviness that her heart still carried and would continue to carry, and the dizziness of her mind combined, in such a way, as to make her overlook the impulse to analyze just why her blood was pounding through her now, of all times, when the worst had passed.

Instead she chose to nod, ending the gesture with her head bowed, both in exhaustion and in a desperate attempt to seek refuge from her own desires. Thoughts were resurfacing, the depraved versions the Fade had corrupted them into, and she had purposely hidden those things from Cullen when she'd confessed what she had faced beyond the breach. She felt awful keeping it from him, but to tell him would have meant exposing herself to truths so severe and so intimate that it would have made her feel far too vulnerable. So much so, that the true subject and main tool the desire demons had plagued her with would be too apparent for him, easily recognizing himself in the figure of her deepest yearnings.

As her head was bowed, the press of his lips on her hair astonished her just as much as it seemed to surprise him, for she felt the barest of flinches, as if he had realized what he was doing too late to correct the action fully and had only prevented himself from going further by kissing her head.

Cullen stole that moment to take in the sky above them, willing his heart to slow its frantic beating and his mind to collect itself lest he do something they would both regret. After all, she needed him to soothe, not to take advantage of her moment of weakness.

-I think we should get going,- he said as he contemplated the dawning light slipping through the trees and climbing the horizon.

He looked at her, searching for some consent, and when she nodded again with her head still bowed, he helped her stand as he pushed himself up from the grass, marveling at the fact that his legs still worked, considering how frail he'd felt since she embraced him and accepted his help.

Once they were both standing apart from one another, he tried to give her more space and walked the few steps that separated them from her horse's gear. He gathered the saddle and reins and moved to collect her horse, who was idly rummaging for the best pastures after realizing his rider was being looked after.

The beast hardly seemed to notice the Commander work him back into his gear, and didn't even flinch when the man lifted his head to put on the reins again.

A few minutes later, Cullen was checking the straps and buckles to make sure they were secure when he shot a cautionary glance over the horse's back. Evelyn was standing right where he'd left her, watching the sky and breathing heavily as though trying to calm herself. Her hands were hugging her upper arms, and after a couple of purifying sighs, she shuddered absently.

Seeing this, Cullen reached for his coat by instinct, only to remember that said garment laid in his room next to his armor stand, still fully equipped with all his gear. In his haste to come after her, he had only dressed in a simple shirt, trousers, and his usual boots. He wore nothing in the way of protection, and was even less prepared for the possibility of inclement weather that, even in spring, still clung to one's bones when the sun had not yet risen enough to melt away the biting chill of night.

He realized this oversight was actually quite dangerous for someone in his position. The list of enemies of the Inquisition grew by the day, and despite thorough security measures Skyhold was and would be, for the foreseeable future, a pilgrimage point where refugees from all over Thedas would come seeking protection. Therefore, the grounds could not be off limits to strangers, albeit risking that one of those groups arrived with less than honorable intentions. It was true that the only assault thus far at the Keep had been one of a single Avaar warrior who attacked their walls with a goat (Cullen _still_ had a hard time believing that, and he had been there when it happened), but he had learned the hard way that it was better to be cautious than to count casualties. That's why his mind's preoccupation with her was more than worrying to him, for it had been so strong as to make him vacate the fortress in naught but garments strictly necessary to maintain propriety, at best.

With no other option, Cullen scoured the saddlebags to see if she'd possessed more foresight than him, and found that her preparations had gone as far as to bring along a thin, hooded vest she wore over her leather armor, the metal chest piece engraved with the Sigil of their movement. As a set the armor could provide a great deal of defense from the elements, but take away the full protection of the ensemble and the vest alone was far from adequate so early in the morning. It was, however, the only option he had available, and therefore the only thing he took with him when he walked toward her again.

-Are you cold?- He didn't wait for her answer. -Here.- She meekly allowed him to untangle her arms from her chest and dress her in the vest, only looking up when he was about to step away again.

-Cullen...- She spoke softly, her voice noticeably hoarse, soul too burdened to gather the strength usually permeating her words. -Thank you.

She took his right hand, still bandaged after he broke it at Adamant, and held it in hers, looking at it as if seeing it for the first time. He was not wearing gloves, which was unusual for him, and the bandage reminded her starkly that she was not the only one who carried wounds, physically or spiritually.

After a while, Cullen turned his hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

-Promise that you'll find me if you need me. No matter the hour, the day, how busy we are, or whether or not you know what to say, I will listen, Inquisitor. Even if you prefer a shoulder to an ear, sometimes, …don't face it alone.

Her heart made a somersault at his words. As she glanced at him, though, the image of a desire demon taking his form overlapped with reality, replacing his concerned grimace with a lewd one, his eyes searing. Closing her own tightly, she nodded once more, feeling as Cullen released her hand.

-I'll hold you to that,- she smiled inwardly, his words echoing hers on happier times of innocently playing chess together, both of them oblivious of the cost the upcoming siege would incur.

oOo

By the time she finished brushing her horse and feeding him to make up for taking him out so early in the morning, Skyhold had already awakened.

She and Cullen had arrived half an hour ago, when the guards' night shifts were being relieved. The Commander walked with her as they guided her horse by the reins, casually making small talk about fighting strategies and the advances the army had achieved since arriving in Skyhold. Finally, they reached the stables, where he departed after reminding her about their War Council mid morning.

She stayed behind with the excuse of taking care of her horse just to think things through, but her contemplations were interrupted by the grumbling in her stomach as soon as the smell of fresh baked bread wafted to her nose.

She followed the tantalizing aroma to the common room, passing through the kitchen where she was acknowledged with several smiles and "good mornings" from the cooking staff. Before the events in The Western Approach, she often used to offer her help in bringing something to the tables, but lately she had stubbornly taken her breakfast alone in her bedroom, making up excuses just to be by herself. Clearing her throat, she forced a patient smile and renewed her offer to them. It was normal for them to be short staffed, requiring hands to refill pitchers or to bring out more food dishes as time went by and newcomers arrived to have meals, but as it always happened, the kitchen staff refused profusely, as if scandalized that she had proposed to scrub the floor with her own clothes.

When she entered the main hall, Sera's voice didn't give her a chance to search for a place to sit.

-Hey Inky! Over here!- She was waving her arms in the air, and Evey laughed despite how her day had begun.

-You are rather more enthusiastic than you rightfully should be, this early.- Everyone in Skyhold knew Sera hated mornings. Each breakfast, if by some miracle she was already awake, Sera would grumble and barely pronounce a word besides a colorful expletive regarding what her thoughts were on morning lovers. When on the road, most of the inner circle would tease her about it until she'd awoken enough to fight back. Then everyone knew at last that Sera was fully out of the Fade.

-Didn't sleep. Coupla arsehats were drinkin' an' bein' loud little tits.

The Inquisitor raised one brow at the contradiction between Sera's blatant cheeriness and the fact that she had been deprived of a good night's sleep. Yet more surprising was the fact that she addressed this as an event beyond the ordinary scope of her surroundings.

-Your room is _in_ the tavern. There's never _not_ a drunk in there.

-Yeah, but these weren't just any wasted know nothings. They were nobles, like. Get them drunk, an' they think they can do whatever. I mean more than _normal_ , you know?

-And yet you don't seem upset about it.- At this, Sera snorted and Evey had a very strong sense of foreboding. -Maker, Sera, what did you do?

-You seen nobles, right?- She made a sound with her tongue as if mocking her own words. -Course you did, you were born among 'em. Well, _normally_ I woulda shot 'em through the face, if I thought Josie wouldn't put me in a hole for it, but _this_ time Bull had a better idea.- She leaned in her direction, lowering her voice but unable to stop the periodic giggle attacks. -So there's these templars, right? Thinkin' they can get some peaches for the night by sweet talkin' and getting' 'em drunk. So 'ere they are, all snotty and shiny bits, and they are _so_ caught up and gaggin' for it that they don't notice us switchin' the drinks around!

She laughed for a whole minute while trying to finish the story.

-They end up takin' like forty minutes to find a door, and when they do, turns out they walked right into the storage closet. Caught them this morning huggin' on some barrels.

Evey was almost afraid to ask.

-And the nobles?

Sera exploded in a fit of laughter that resounded through the common hall. She bent over the table with one of her hands on her stomach, the other pointing at Bull, who had remained silent and calm with a devious grin on his face.

-Don't worry, boss. They'll show up, eventually. They're just having trouble remastering that coquettish swagger of the hips when they walk.- He winked at the Inquisitor in the most insinuating way she had ever seen.

Cassandra's look as well as her tone didn't hide her disapproval.

-I never took you for someone who would take advantage of an intoxicated woman, Bull.

He raised both hands as if surrendering.

-Hey, I didn't. And you should give me a damn prize for my restraint, actually. They climbed on my lap more times than I could count. How was I supposed to know they'd end up climbing to the bar as well and falling ridiculously...

He couldn't finish the sentence on account of Sera interrupting him.

- _Right on their snob arses!-_ She nearly laughed to the point of choking.

Cassandra tried to hide her smile in her cup. The Seeker did not appreciate Orlesian nobility, and she secretly rejoiced in each of their shames and slips out of character.

Evey dropped her head in her hand. She couldn't deny that she very much enjoyed the idea of one less insufferable noble in her neverending, unwanted retinue, but the idea of how their Ambassador would take this incident was somewhat worrisome.

-Maker, I'll never hear the end of this. I swear, if I have to listen to another of Josephine's lectures about decorum and the correct way of addressing our noble guests, I'm going to send her directly to you two!

-Nice! we'll buy her a drink, -Bull retorted hastily with a devilish smile.

Sera was having troubles breathing at this point; her usual giggles had turned into guffaws, practically forcing her to suck in a breath amongst fits of hysterical laughter.

Evey was about to rebut Bull's answer when a scandalized Dorian stopped her.

- _Evelyn Arabella Trevelyan!_

He tried to keep up this scolding, but Evey's confused mumble stopped him.

-Um, that's not my middle name.

-Well, _excuse_ me! I'm trying to take a _stand_ here, and I needed to add a little more impact!- He stood at her side and grabbed her sash, which she had just noticed sported a significantly large dried bloodstain. -Have you no respect for high couture? You kept that aberration of a garment for over four months, but you can't keep this one in decent condition for three weeks?! Are you punishing me for something? Did I hurt you in some way?

He was adding an affected tone to his speech, as if he was truly heartbroken and about to cry, which made her affect her best "puppy eyes" in a cheap attempt to play the part of an apology. Dorian, of course, would have never fallen for that (not that she was trying too hard) and immediately raised his hand, preventing her from replying.

-Just… Never mind! I'll find something else to replace it.- Sitting on a nearby chair, he added, -But I swear to you, if you don't take better care of this one next time, I'll…- He thought about the perfect threat, and immediately grinned in his perfect, maleficar smile. -I'll rat you out to the fashion triplets.

In other circumstances, the menace of delivering her to Josephine, Leliana, and Vivienne's hands would have been enough to make her promise never to affront his sensibilities again, but the origins of the bloodstain were hoarding all her attention. Luckily, Bull caught Dorian's consideration, preventing him from demanding a response to his threat.

She looked at her hand, now bandaged completely due to both her sliced palm from her failed attempt to catch her dagger in midair, and from her ire released punching the tree with her fist. Still, even though the wound to her palm had bled more than the other, it was in no way near as important as to leave the stain on her sash. Besides, the fabric was ruined on the left side, and she had wounded her right hand. She remembered that she had hugged herself when Cullen was preparing her horse to return to Skyhold, and she had simply tried to combat the empty sensation she had felt the moment he released her, but he had thought she was cold and had come with her vest to get her warmed up again. That time, though, she had hugged her own arms, not her torso, so even if her hand had bled that much (and it didn't) she couldn't have stained the sash in that moment.

That mystery kept her absent from the breakfast conversation for a few minutes until she heard Varric's call.

-Hey, Curly! Are you actually coming _here_ to have breakfast? And on the same morning our fearless leader decided to put an end to her isolation? Should we let the guards know they have to keep an eye out for flying druffalo?

Cullen made a grunting noise to express what he thought about the dwarf's exaggerated greeting. Granted, lately he had not come to the common hall for morning meals, choosing instead to take it on his office and therefore not be forced to put his work on hold, but it wasn't like he hadn't come in such a long time, was it? He pointedly recalled having breakfast with all of them last...

Cullen stopped in his tracks a few feet away from the table. _Has it really been that long?_

If he was honest, he couldn't remember the last time he had come here in the morning of his own volition. When they had first arrived at Skyhold, there was too much work to allow himself the luxury of eating anywhere else but his office. Then, when the keep was fairly secure, the new troupes Evey had summoned had been in dire need of decent training and he had been adamant about providing it. After that they had begun the plans for Adamant's siege, and when they came back from that, there had been too many notes of condolences to write and attach to the ones the Inquisitor had insisted it was her duty to write, as well as the arrangements to provide those families with all they needed to move forward, only grieving the loss of their beloved without the desperate financial situation that usually followed these events when a provider for a family was lost.

Truth be told, he had only eaten breakfast here when Cassandra had dragged him begrudgingly, telling him one more time that he would end up exhausted if he drowned himself in work for too long, not helping his lyrium withdrawal in the least by pushing himself to these extremes.

So there it was. Perhaps looking at the sky for flying druffalos was not as outrageous as it sounded.

Promising himself he would try to take a break more often and at least eat in the way the Maker had intended, he covered the distance that separated him from the empty seat next to Varric.

-Good to see you're taking it slow, Curly!- The dwarf slapped his mid back companionably the moment he was next to him, and Cullen leaned forward reflexively, unable to contain a slight flinch, gritting his teeth almost imperceptibly.

While Cullen poured himself a cup of coffee and began examining the contents of the different bowls of food in front of him, a pair of hazel eyes watched him from the edge of a cup.

That morning, the Commander of the Inquisition forces was not wearing his armor.

oOo

At midmorning, the War Council assembled. Time was against them; there were still some months until the Ball at Halamshiral, and they had already received their invitation, the surprise waiting for them when they came back from The Western Approach. Even still, there was much to discuss to make sure they'd have at least a slight chance of succeeding, and it was so overwhelming that Evey had almost wanted to disappear before Josephine and Leliana had a chance to "train" her in the ways of Orlais, the Imperial Court, and nobility.

She had experience in the latter; she was one after all, being the daughter of a Bann, but she was a Marcher and Orlais was another animal entirely. Whereas in her home, nobles were petty and nasty for the most outrageous reasons, in Halamshiral a misstep could translate into so much more than just simple humiliation. It could mean outright suicide, not only socially, but actual _death_. But, whether she wanted to admit it or not, an alliance with Orlais could change many things, giving them influence and power that they could only dream of having now. Still, she dreaded when her female advisors recommended that she stay in Skyhold for training in The Great Game for the three months leading up to the event.

Once she came back this morning from her "excursion" with Cullen, she made up her mind about an idea she'd had since before the Adamant debacle. She wanted to travel to The Dales. The Inquisition had not yet explored that area, and the fact that Halamshiral was part of that territory could give them some advantage for the future. One never knew what might be encountered while on their travels. The options were varied: she could go to The Emerald Graves, The Exalted Plains, or even Emprise du Lion. All of those regions were in need of assistance to some degree, but she had yet to decide where she was more inclined to go first. After this morning, the idea of parting was not so attractive as it was the night before, but she needed to get away from this enclosure. She felt trapped, and after what had happened in the Fade, that was the last thing she needed.

Josephine, Leliana and she had already arrived. Time was dragging slowly but surely, and the fact that Cullen was already ten minutes late was beginning to get on her nerves, her suspicions even stronger now.

Then, just when she was about to tell the others she would go check on what was keeping him, the heavy wooden door of the War Council Chamber opened hastily.

-I beg your forgiveness, my ladies. I was delayed by some recruits' petty quarrel.

All that answered his words were their three perfect, yet disguised, surprised faces. He could have sworn he'd heard a little gasp that, he suspected, had come from the Ambassador. Cullen couldn't blame them; he was rarely seen in anything but his armor, save for the trip to The Western Approach when the weather had not been the best to don that much metal. Now, nevertheless, he was dressed in the same clothes he'd worn to breakfast. He had briefly considered wearing his pauldrons and vambraces, at least, to the point where he actually put them on and checked his figure in a mirror, but the image reflected was so ridiculous that he had discard them outright. If he was not wearing his breast plate, he might as well forego everything else, save his cloak.

At sight of their shocked looks, however, he asked himself if he had made a tactical mistake. They were too polite to ask, but he knew this change in his routine had not inadvertently escaped notice. Especially Evey's, who was watching him with a raised eyebrow and looked the least surprised among them.

The way he was being watched and scrutinized was making him uncomfortable.

-Shall we, um,- he cleared his throat, starting over. -Shall we begin?

He took his place between the other two advisors in front of the Inquisitor before someone had a chance to respond.

-Yes, of course,- Josephine took the reins and began reading the list of topics for the day, checking which one would be better to start off the meeting. At last, she seemed to decide on one in particular and looked straight to Evelyn. -There are several issues that require your attention, Inquisitor, but I think the paramount one is the upcoming Grand Ball.

Evey nodded in defeat. She knew this subject would arise, but that never meant that she would like it.

-In Orlais, the nobility are ruthless,- Leliana added as if she and Josephine had previously planned to take turns explaining the gravity of the situation. -The Game is played constantly, and it is filled with intrigue, seduction, ambition, and scandal. Any misstep could mean the end of a bloodline, as well as not a small amount of lives. Playing it requires training, and even though you have a base in political stratagems, this is much more intricate than you might have previously seen. Hidden beneath a polite veneer, which will purposely make you feel safe when you are actually walking on thin ice, is the desperate attempt of the nobility to escalate in society, using any means necessary to do so. You'll have to spend hours learning how to avoid the dangerous traps that even our potential allies will lay in front of you, and you'll need to become as comfortable with it as you can in order to play it smoothly and safely.

She pointed to herself and Josie.

-We'll provide you with everything you need to know. You'll have to memorize names, titles, and relationships, both in blood and convenience; you'll have to study the pasts of the main players, and the possible moves they'll attempt to trap you in on the spot. We'll teach you how to predict their next play and how to avoid being lured into unknown and dangerous territory. Dorian and Vivienne will serve as stand ins, and will put you under strenuous situations that you might encounter during our stay in the Palace. We'll need your full focus, attention, and dedication to reach our goal, and don't lose anything in the meantime. Once we deem you ready, you'll have to decide who among your inner circle will accompany you, although we strongly suggest you take Dorian or Vivienne, both if possible. They have much experience, and can help you if you find yourself in a difficult situation.

Evey tried to process all this information, nodding from time to time to let them know she was paying attention, and at the same time tried to accept the fact that her plans to travel to the Dales might be doomed before she had the possibility of putting the subject up for discussion.

Cullen seemed overwhelmed as well, and slightly disgusted with the idea of getting themselves into the viper nest willingly. With a sneer, he seized the silence to give his opinion.

-That's all well and good, but the most important thing remains: We have to reach the Empress before Corypheus.- And then he pointed out a marker which represented their forces laying over Halamshiral on the map. -The only question that matters is, "how?"

Josephine slid a piece of parchment out of her note board and put it on the War Table.

-We know how. I have our way in. The political situation in Halamshiral hangs by a thread. The Empress fears our presence could sever it. The Grand Duke is only too happy to have us at the ball as his guest, so our invitation comes from him.- She pushed the paper closer to her and Evey recognized it immediately, especially with the Gran Duke's signature and family crest on it. It had been laying in the desk of her room for an entire week, and though she'd read it and, in a distant, fuzzy way, even acknowledged what it said, she'd given it back to Josephine afterwards with little to no commentary about it, knowing full well that the subject would arise in the next War Council anyway. -Whether we act as his allies or upset the balance of power, he gains an opportunity, …if not a clear advantage.- She turned once more to Cullen. -The Ball has been planned at the urging of Grand Duchess Florianne, Gaspard's sister. Absolutely everyone will be there, and during the festivities, Celene will be meeting for peace talks with the usurper.- She momentarily looked at Evey again and clarified, -meaning the Duke,- and then her eyes turned to Cullen once more, -and Ambassador Briala, so the real question actually is: where is our enemy hiding?

Leliana didn't give Cullen time to answer.

-The assassin must be hiding within one of these factions.

Cullen intervened, looking straight to Evelyn.

-And it's our job to figure out in which one.

Evey nodded, falling once again in the now old dance of her part as Inquisitor.

-Well, first thing is first: What do we know about Duke Gaspard?- She looked at her three advisors, trying to figure out who would be the first to address to her.

Cullen won the pleasure.

-The man who would have been Emperor.- The Inquisitor raised her brows in surprise. Noticing this, Cullen nodded sadly. It was evident that he thought the Duke would have been a better choice. -He's Celene's cousin, and was first in line to inherit the throne when Emperor Florian died. Celene outmaneuvered him.- He shrugged his shoulders. -She won over the Council of Heralds, who hold authority over title disputes. She became empress, and he a general in the Imperial Army. He's well loved by the troops. He's also a chevalier. Most of their numbers sided with him when he turned on the Empress, since even if they swore to serve the crown, that doesn't necessarily instill faith in the person wearing it, as happened this time. Even with Celene's attempts to win their confidence, the chevaliers see her as anti military, and Gaspard as a possibility to restore the glory the Empire had in the years of Drakon's expansion.

She nodded once more, mainly to assure her advisors' minds that she was, in fact, paying attention and doing her best to keep up with all this political mayhem.

-And Ambassador Briala. What about her?- Considering the title of the woman, she looked to Leliana or Josephine for her answer.

The Spymaster stepped in.

-An ambassador in name only. She has organized the elves of Halamshiral into an underground army. The Empress invited her to the peace talks in a bid to gain the elves' alliance in the war. That would be scandal enough,- she squinted her eyes as if she was about to unveil a dangerous secret, which of course she did, -without the rumor that Briala is a jilted lover of Celene's. A personal grudge and a network of saboteurs at her command? A promising lead.- One corner of her mouth turned up. Leliana adored scandals.

The Inquisitor, for her part, was more than shocked. This was indeed promising.

-Wait! The elven leader is a former lover of the Empress? This plot thickens worse than in Varric's tales.

At this, Leliana actually chuckled.

-It's not widely known, and that gives us a considerable advantage. The most you could get from others is that they heard just a rumor whispered among the palace servants, a few years ago. If it is true and were to get out, the Empress and an _elf_ , the scandal could destroy Celene's court.- For a second, Evey felt uncomfortable at the feline smile of her Spymaster. She looked like a wild animal who knew her prey was trapped. Thank the Maker she was on _their_ side…

Yet as soon as the fleeting hunger appeared in Leliana's eyes, it vanished again.

-Even if a lie, Briala could use it to blackmail the Empress. She has some connection to the throne.

-So, that leaves us only Empress Celine. Josie, tell me everything we know about her.

The Ambassador took one step forward and, with her board in one hand and a quill in the other, she gestured.

-Empress Celene is a renowned diplomat and reformer. She works tirelessly to secure peace for the Empire. Unfortunately, many Orlesians view peace as complacency. She has yet to name an heir, leaving the future of the Empire in doubt if anything happens to her. Especially when the next in line is her cousin, Gaspard, who has made few friends on the Council of Heralds.- Josephine dropped her complete speech without even pausing to take a breath, and even though she really found all of this fairly boring, Evey had to admit she was impressed with the efficiency of her advisors.

-All things considered, is it really possible that an assassin could reach Celene to kill her?

-Normally it wouldn't,- Leliana straightened and joined her hands behind her back. -Celene is surrounded at all times by countless guards, courtiers, servants, and vassals. So it will make perfect sense to use the Ball as a fog curtain to get to her. After all, she is forced to greet everyone there and to mingle with the most important guests, at least. Consider this, Inquisitor: what better place for an assassin to hide than the Empress's own household, especially if they want to make everyone believe the attack came from the outside?

-Then, we have two main suspects: One driven by personal spite over a possible heartbreak, the other due to revenge over Celene gaining the throne.- She summarized it out loud, mostly for herself than for her audience, then considered for a moment all the possibilities. -I find one thing hard to understand yet though. How can Gaspard still be next in line while he wages war against his Empress?

Cullen surprised her in holding the answer to that.

-The title "Grand Duke" indicates that he was a prince before the Empress took the throne. Even if she wants to get him out of the way, and I'm sure she does, she is bound by hierarchy.

She sighed. This was becoming dangerous territory, and the fact that it was going to require intense training and could still end up in disaster didn't make things easier, nor the prospect of attending the Ball more attractive.

She looked at her advisors without bothering to conceal her frustration.

-Do we need to go to the peace talks? The Empress must have personal guards. We could just warn her she is in danger.

Josephine made a grimace.

-We've made the attempt but...- She left it in the air and Leliana picked it up straight from there.

-It seems that our messages never reached her… Someone intercepted them.

Cullen looked at her with understanding eyes. He clearly did not like this either. As far as she could tell, he was not a fan of nobility in general, having little patience for most of their demands. Apparently, she was one of the few nobles he not only tolerated, but also seemed to enjoy spending time with. But then again, she was not like most nobles, especially Orlesian ones.

After that sympathetic look, another one pleading forgiveness replaced it.

-It's better that we don't leave this to chance. If Orlais falls to Corypheus, no land is safe.

She knew, Maker knew she was aware of it, but the idea of spending an entire week in Orlais fearing that any slight miscalculation could mean a significant blow not only to the Inquisition but to the people they were defending was trying, to say the least.

She sighed and decided to give in, but they'd have to give some in return first.

-We'll begin my full training once I come back from the Dales.- Her female advisors made an attempt to interrupt, but she raised her hand and talked first. - Though I will take Vivienne on my trip so she can use that time to teach me the basics.

-But Inquisitor, the Ball is merely three months ahead and if we...

-The Inquisitor is right, Josephine.- Cullen intervened, -The Dales are in need of assistance. I received notice that the rifts there are unstable. We can't risk the people there if we can do something about it.

Both Josephine and Leliana seemed defeated. They knew changing Evey's mind once she set it on something was difficult, but trying to do it when she had Cullen's support was an exhausting experience since they were almost equally stubborn in nature. They also knew that meant they'd have to work twice as hard once the Inquisitor came back from her trip, but this was definitely not the moment to bring that up.

Evey looked at Cullen and mouthed her thanks when the others were not looking, smiling slightly. Cullen nodded solemnly.

Josephine rubbed her forehead in a surprising unlady like gesture and asked,

-When will you be leaving?

Evey pretended to think, as if she had not thought about this enough in the past week while trying to occupy her mind with anything but the events at Adamant.

-Three days. I'll let my companions know after this meeting.

Leliana intervened there.

-The Dales are vast, Inquisitor, with several settlements including Halamshiral, itself. Do you have a more precise idea as to where you'll be heading?- That sounded almost like the sarcasm Evey knew it was.

-I do, actually.- She took her own marker with the Inquisition's emblem and put it over Emprise du Lion. Her advisors watched carefully. Leliana nodded. And Josephine gasped.

A noise followed, and it made her raise her head. Josephine was already bending over to find the quill she had dropped. When the ambassador stood again, she could see a distressed look in her eyes.

-Is there anything wrong, Josephine?

At the mention of her name, Josie looked at her and blushed, trying to avoid her eyes and looking guilty.

-I... Emmmm... No, everything is in order. I beg your pardon, Your Worship. Please continue.

Evey looked around and met the eyes of an annoyed Leliana and a confused Cullen. She then turned back to Josephine and walked straight to her, noticing how she flinched at her proximity.

-What is it Josie?

The ambassador looked back at her, and then, with a defeated sigh, took one of her notes and gave it to her.

The letter was addressed to Josephine, an elegant family crest seal broken from when it had been opened. It was from an Edouard Desjardins and mentioned the dire situation Emprise du Lion was in. There had been Red Templars sighted near Sahrnia, and the people were frightened that this could mean the end of their peaceful lives.

Evey looked at her advisors furiously, crumbling the note in her hand.

-When did this arrive?

Josephine, whose voice had been reduced to almost a whisper from guilt, was the one to answer.

-It was delivered with the last batch of correspondence.

Evey's eyes, as well as Cullen's, grew considerably at this news. Leliana, as usual, had a stoic look on her face. The Inquisitor tried desperately not to scream at her.

-Are you _telling_ me that you've _known_ of this for _two weeks_ and did _nothing_ about it?

-Not _nothing_ , exactly,- Leliana's calm voice interrupted her. -The day we arrived from The Western Approach, I came upon this news,- she said, not specifying if Josephine had told her or if she had found out by her own means, -and deployed Harding with a handful of my spies the very next day. They traveled under specific orders to report any critical information they might find about the Red Templars, as well as their activities.

Evey was breathing heavily, the same blind fury of this morning blazing inside her.

-Why was I not informed of this sooner?!

-Can you blame us, Inquisitor?- Leliana's answer sounded almost like a reproach. -You've been coping with Adamant's consequences, and you were not in the best shape to have this dropped on your shoulders, as well. We did what was necessary. Even if we informed you before, you still needed the information from our own scouts before you could venture there.

She nodded. Though she didn't like it, she had to admit Leliana was right. Far too often she'd had arguments with them because she wanted to explore some place blindly without any other information besides a call for help from an unknown person. This time, the informant was someone who was obviously one of Josephine's acquaintances, and even a friend, if the letter was any indication, but a reconnaissance was always a good course when exploring new lands. Still, she wished she had known earlier. She might have been able to travel before, or even with Harding.

She lowered her head and her eyes were covered over by her bandaged hand. Who was she kidding? If it wasn't for Cullen's intervention, she would still be secluded in her own despair, trying as little as possible to interact with anyone.

She then bent over the War Table, her right hand over the Gamordan Peaks, her left in the Sundered Sea.

-Is there anything _else_ I should know?

Josephine cleared her throat in such a soft and elegant way that the gesture could never have worked at it was supposed to.

-Nothing that requires immediate attention, Your Worship.

-Yes, well, I prefer to hear it now, if it's all the same to you.- She instantly regretted her poisonous tone and glanced each of them apologetically. They all nodded their acceptance.

Leliana was the first to continue as if nothing had happened.

-Word spread about your deal with the Wardens in the aftermath of the Adamant battle, and people among Skyhold are divided. Some claimed, as you, that the Wardens need a second chance to clear their name.- She made a pause, as if giving her time to prepare for the upcoming news. -The others think that it's unfair to give refuge to the murderers of our people.- She flinched at this. Back at Griffon Wing Keep, she knew this could happen, but foolishly hoped the people would see it her way.- We hoped that with Ser Ruth's judgment, we might appease most of the detractors.

She didn't like that at all; she never liked judging people. The last one had been almost a joke, judging a man that attacked Skyhold with a _goat_ , and most people had taken it as such. But this? This was far from that. This judgment could heal the Inquisition or open a breach between their followers.

Maker, sometimes she hated being the Inquisitor.

Leliana followed with her report.

-Most of the survivors sent by our allies requested permission to bring their loved ones and continue fighting for the Inquisition. We took the liberty of writing down the letters that will be sent to those desired to their superiors, and left it on your desk for your evaluation. If everything works as we expect, and none of the soldiers are called back to their settlements, we think the wisest thing to do will be to bring them here to Skyhold, and deploy most of the Wardens elsewhere. This may also lessen the grieving families of the burden of sharing their home with those they blame for the deaths of their beloved ones. The problem is where to send them.

Josephine took the lead here.

-The restoration of Haven is complete. We managed to make it habitable again, and with it we now count a new settlement to give to our troupes.- She turned her body toward the Commander, but did not raise her eyes from her notes. -Earlier this morning, you were saying something about...- Apparently she realized then that Cullen was still looking at the Inquisitor's marker on the map. -Cullen?

It took him a few seconds to recall what had been said that his mind had registered beyond his notice.

-Hmmm? I... eh... yes... Haven has limited space for our soldiers to train, but it's enough for the Wardens. Perhaps we could set up something over _here_ for the troupes _there_ , and deploy most of the Wardens _there_. They could make rounds to the nearby villages and provide extra protection, and at the same time leave room for the Haven soldiers here. As you are aware, some of them left their families, and it may raise morale to bring them back together after...- He stopped before he mentioned the ones they lost at Adamant.

-Yes, that will work. I will hold audience with Ser Ruth this afternoon.- For some reason, she refused to call it "judgment", especially in cases involving the wardens, since it sounded as if she was entitled to decide everyone's destiny. -And then we will give word to the Wardens of where they will be assigned.

-That leaves Livius Erimond, Your Worship. He...

She stopped Josephine by raising her hand.

-I know, I'll take care of him after Ser Ruth.- She looked at her three advisors again. -Anything else?

-Well, there is one thing more,- Josephine ventured. She looked at her warily, and Evelyn made a gesture to encourage her to talk. -The answer to Grand Duke Gaspard must come from your hand only. He is after all who invited us, and has requested the honor to assist you at the ball. Therefore, it customary that the answer to his invitation be given by the one the missive is addressed to.- Her face told the Ambassador everything she needed to know.- I am aware that you do not enjoy this, but consider it a prelude to your training in the Great Game. Just...- She swallowed silently, -make sure to write in _friendlier_ terms than you did when you answered Emile de Launcet's proposal.

Cullen snorted.

-Emile de Laucet. _Really_.

He looked back at Evey, who was rolling her eyes.

-Really.

-The man is inept! Back in Kirkwall, he actually spread a rumor that he himself was a blood mage, _just_ to attract women! Hawke had a hard time deciding whether to emasculate him or concede one night of enjoyment before then turning him over to the Circle.- He shook his head with sadness. -Tragically, he chose the latter.

This time, Evey was the one who snorted in amusement.

-You should have read the letter. His skills have not improved.

-I would rather have read your reply.

They laughed together until Josephine cleared her throat, this time more insistently, as a mother demanding her children's attention.

-Still, please refrain yourself this time. The Duke outwits Emile de Laucent by far, and he is too valuable a potential ally to risk the luxury of keeping in his good graces.

-Don't worry, Josephine; I will behave as the lady my mother raised. What I don't understand is why the Duke is so eager to win our favor.

-Gaspard knows our presence will cross the Empress, even if she will never admit it, as it is logical.- Leliana continued, -In the people's eyes, an alliance with the Inquisition comes short of an alliance with Andraste herself.- When Evey tried to interrupt, Leliana raised her hand, stopping her.- Even if you don't like it or if you discovered the contrary in the Veil, _this_ is how most people see you. Celene does not need that pressure hindering her leverage in the peace talks, nor face the possibility of us not giving our full support to her cause, which is why I suspect Gaspard was able to outmaneuver her and invite us first. It will be your duty to evaluate the situation and decide who you will support... if anyone.

Evey nodded once more and, afraid that this would continue indeterminately if she immersed herself in the subject of the Ball again, she straightened her back and crossed her arms, as she usually did when she was about to adjourned the meeting.

-Well, then, if that is all, I think we all know what to do for the time being.- She turned to Josephine once more. -I will see you in a couple of hours with a draft of my reply to the Grand Duke.

Her three advisors then gathered their reports and walked to the door, leaving her to her musings while she studied the map in deep concentration. Words of "Inquisitor" reached her from both women, and before Cullen's voice did the same, she spoke.

-Commander, a word if you please?

She did not turn when he quietly acknowledged her request, nor when she heard the door closing behind her female advisors. Instead, she calmly walked to one of the windows in the back of the room, waiting until the other door at the other end of the hall leading to Josephine's office closed in turn.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27: Hidden Pains

In the short time it took the ladies to close both doors of the War Room, the silence between Cullen and Evey became oppressive. She could feel it just as easily as she could hear him fidgeting, looking for something to do, to say, a place to stand or a way to break this barrier that had been lifted between them.

How could it be? This morning, she had been so receptive to his company, to how he had calmed her turmoil and had pulled her out of the pain induced warp in which she had been lost.

And now she was standing there, her back to him silently, breathing deeply, staring out the window and just waiting...

Cullen's throat began to constrict in the early stages of what would have been a soft sound intended to call her attention, when her voice almost made him jump in his place and choked off his words.

-The weather is getting warmer. In a few weeks, we won't need to feed the fireplaces constantly.- She turned to look at him, and Cullen felt his heart drop.

During their talk, and later in the War Council, she seemed to have regained some of her spirit, smiling from time to time, albeit softly, and even joking or daring to laugh faintly when they mentioned the de Launcet incident. Now, that dark veil that covered her in the morning was there again, plunging her into sadness. He could read it in her expression, in the way her brows raised slightly in the middle, and her lips pursed as if gritting her teeth.

-Yet we are far from needing to forego our armor to make it bearable. What made you leave yours? I haven't seen you wear it all day…

Cullen clenched his hand over the pommel of his sword, trying to stop himself from fidgeting. He had never been good at telling lies, and the fact that he hated lying to her only made it worse and harder to conceal.

-Yes... I... Master Harrit is taking care of it. He still needed to make some adjustments to it since the battle in The Approach.

She was looking at him directly, almost as if she was studying his every move. Save for the ghost of sadness lingering on her face, she was a statue, revealing nothing of her intentions or thoughts.

Her silence and the manner in which she was looking at him made Cullen nervous, and forced him to speak further.

-I imagine it will be ready for tomorrow morning at the latest.- She raised her head an inch or two, as if acknowledging him, but the movement was so cold and calculated that he flinched inwardly.

After this meeting, he would have to go back to his loft and strike that thing with all his might, maybe even throw it down to his office in order to make a dent big enough to justify the blacksmith's intervention. All of that before she decided to prove him a liar by checking his story with Harrit down in the Undercroft.

Still, she remained silent. She didn't accuse him of lying, nor acknowledge his problem and dismiss him in satisfaction for his explanation. She merely kept watching him, as if giving him time to explain the situation further.

-I understand this represents a breach in protocol and a security hazard, should we be attacked.- Again, she did nothing to reassure him, and his mouth kept digging him deeper.- I take full responsibility for this, and if you deem it necessary, I shall find a replacement until my own set is available again.

The moment those words left his mouth, he wanted to kick himself. He had let her attitude crawl under his skin and had singlehandedly hammered all the nails in his own coffin. If she agreed to his last offer, he would have serious problems.

She turned again, seemingly to return to her position next to the window, but instead she began to walk slowly toward the edge of the table. Her hand idly caressed the slopes and bumps of Thedas' terrain. Her eyes were on the floor though, as if the movement of her hand was automatic. Evey seemed so out of character that Cullen was beginning to worry just as much as this morning, fearing a relapse.

Maybe he should be worried about _his_ reaction, instead. In the past, he had accepted a reprimand when he deemed he deserved it and endured it almost absently, when he knew the only reason he had been summoned was to bolster his superior's ego, their inferiority complex begging for a victim to despise so they could feel better about themselves. But with Evey, he always felt as if he could not ignore her, as if, guilty or not, he could not shut himself to her words, fearing he could break their meager relationship by risking a misunderstanding.

The fact that she was able to undo him in such a way was truly disturbing. He, who used to have the best blank face, and was often chosen to perform tasks in need of such impassivity, who was the object of many a Templar's envy, for he could withstand a superior berating him for hours, even trying to making him feel less himself with a stoic appearance.

With her everything seemed to be different, no matter what he did.

Even if what needed to be done was for her own good.

He was lying, his whole body was screaming it at him. The way he avoided her eyes, how he stumbled upon weak excuses to hide what, from the beginning, had been a lost cause.

She could take this to the Undercroft, convince him to walk with her and casually lead him to the stairs to Skyhold's lower levels. She could even see how far he was willing to go with his lie. _Would he discuss this with Harrit once the blacksmith told her that he did not receive any armor? Would he insist on this after I press the matter further?_ Probably. Cullen seemed adamant in his story, and the fact that he had not admitted the truth when she asked hurt her. It was one thing to sin by omission, and another one completely to boldly lie to her face.

Slowly, she stopped in her tracks once she reached the edge of the table. Without looking at him, she asked,

-How long have we known each other, Commander?- She raised her eyes to him and noticed she had surprised him with her question. It was understandable since it seemed to come out of nowhere, and the moment the surprise left his eyes, doubt and wariness replaced it.

He squinted, looking at her with caution. It was evident that he thought he was walking right into a trap but couldn't find a way out of it.

-About seven months. A little bit more, if we count the time you spent unconscious under our watch, but I fail to see why that is important, Inquisitor.- The use of her title spoke of how on guard he was, following her example to put some distance between them, and they had not been extremely friendly since they were left alone after the War Council.

She nodded as if his calculations were the same as hers.

-In that time, I have only seen you without your armor on a couple of occasions.- He made an attempt to speak, but she kept going. -And I'd like to think I got to know you well enough to realize when something is amiss.

Cullen remained silent, hoping she would take it as confusion instead of culpability. He even dared to furrow his brow, as if he were at a loss, to make her believe it.

-This morning,- she continued, flinching a little at the memories, resting her eyes in the southwestern area of the map in what she suspected was Adamant's location, -I was too engrossed in my own troubles to notice it, and I'm even willing to believe that you were, too, but Dorian was not.

Now he was truly surprised, for he had no idea why the mage was coming into the conversation.

-The moment he saw me, he berated me for ruining my new sash.- She looked at him again. -It had a large stain of blood on it at waist height on my left side.- She raised her bandaged hand.- The only blood I spilled came from my right hand.

Cullen's grip on the sword pommel tightened and he swallowed visibly. Evey continued while pinning him with her eyes, deep pain reflecting in them.

-You hugged me after I made a fool of myself. I felt warm in your hands, but never noticed what was going on until I saw the stain.- She lowered her eyes to his rib cage, ashamed. -It was that dagger, wasn't it? The one I threw in a fit of anger.- She choked on her next words. -I hurt you.

The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them.

-I don't know what you are talking about.

She looked back at him, and her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. If it was due to the idea of having hurt him, or because of his answer, he could not tell.

-I saw you flinch when Varric clapped your back.- He was about to talk again, the " _he took me by surprise_ " almost spilling from his lips, when she walked to where he was, standing between him and the table. -If what you say is true, and the reason you don't wear your armor is just that, I imagine you won't object in proving me wrong.

And there it was. She had trapped him.

Denying her request would be as good as admitting his fault, but with worse consequences. Fighting to the end when defeat was imminent could be courageous and honorable on the battlefield where one fights for a cause, but in a situation such as this, it was just plain stupid.

Still, a part of him wanted to convey the perfect excuse to save her the pain of confirming her suspicions. He knew she would add this to the list of things for which she blamed herself, and the knowledge of hurting the one that came to her aid would haunt her as all the other charges she had claimed for herself.

The pause he'd made while thinking of his possibilities proved to be too much for her, and she timidly began to raise her hands toward the hem of his trousers, where his shirt was neatly tucked in. Cullen took them in his own just in time to stop her, and even after she gave up on it, he kept her hands in his.

He was looking at the floor between them, their hands interrupting part of his line of sight, and was trying to will himself to beg her forgiveness for lying when she beat him to it.

-Forgive me.

It was merely a whisper, but it hit him right in the chest where she was practically resting her head now, only a few inches separating them.

She shook her head twice while seeking refuge near his chest, although she kept herself apart from him; it seemed as though she wanted to rest her head on him, but did not dare to breach that barrier again. Cullen had to gather all his strength to not hold her as he had that morning.

-Had I known...

He shused her, releasing her hands and pulling her slightly away from his chest to look at her.

The Inquisitor, on the other hand, had another idea and kept her eyes stubbornly fixed on his chest. As this morning, Cullen managed to drop his voice to a soothing and persuasive tone.

-Evey, look at me…- He caught the endearment of _darling_ that fought to rise out of his throat just in time. Her concern for his well being was melting his heart, and it was bringing back all the memories from the night she'd taken care of him while he fought the lyrium withdrawal with a vengeance, making him feel confused yet bolder than he had ever dared to be before.

In the seconds it took her to raise her eyes to him, Cullen made sure to send all those feelings to a second plane. Acting on them in this situation would only make her, and himself, despise him, for it would mean taking advantage of her in a moment of weakness.

Almost at the same time she looked at his eyes, he shut the last part of his traitorous mind that reveled in the idea of him being one of her weaknesses.

-It's nothing. To be honest, I didn't even realize anything had happened until I began the task of putting my armor on. It was then that I noticed the dampness in my shirt.- She tried to talk, but he kept going. -The reason I left the armor behind was only a precaution.- He released her shoulders, and when she didn't speak, he added,- Please, believe me.

She looked at him with a raised eyebrow, incredulously.

-Really? You are in no position to ask me that, Commander.- She softened the hardness of her words by raising one side of her mouth in a smile.

-I beg your forgiveness, Inquisitor,- he bowed whimsically.

The skin of the barely closed wound tightened with the movement, and he contained the pain it caused, masterfully hiding it from her to spare her the hardship of realizing he had lied once again. The wound had been deep, and it hurt much more than just a bit. He truly hadn't noticed its existence until he arrived at his loft, but that had been only because he had been too focused on her to care about his own wellbeing. His body was, after all, still covered in deep bruises from their last battle and it ached more times than not. Back there, he'd felt the pain and confused it with a remnant of the battle. Only when he had closed his door and leaned against it had he felt a stab of pain, followed by a new gush of blood spilling into his shirt, whose color had concealed the blood from both of them earlier in the forest.

It would take days for it to heal, and even if it was not the best idea, he would come back to his armor tomorrow at first light, making sure to cushion the wound with extra bandages and his padded shirt to bring her peace of mind on _that_ issue, at least.

When he stood again in all his height, she bumped his shoulder as if in reprimand for his silliness.

-You are dismissed, Commander.

-Inquisitor,- he answered with a grin with a mind of its own, and went hastily to the door.

The moment his hand took the handle, she spoke once more.

-Cullen? Don't lie to me again.- She was staring at him, and a little glimpse of that previous sadness had returned.

It was his turn to pin her with his eyes.

-Never.


	28. Chapter 28

**Slightly longer chapter, since we are preparing for Halamshiral and Orlais is not to be taking lightly.**

 **Also for this chapter I used an excerpt from an youtube video featuring our very own Madame de Fer (voiced by Indira Varma who you probably know as Ellaria Sand from Game of Thrones). From the moment I saw it I knew I had to add that as part to the story (with a few variations).**

 **Check the video here if you like, it is really worth it. That way you'll be able to hear Vivienne in your head when you read it here.**

 **watch?v=3G5qKxRzkGI**

 **And by the way, thank you sooo much for your reviews, you really keep me going**

oOo

Chapter 28: Game Play

-Open the Gates! It's the Inquisitor!

The call coming from the battlements was one they already knew far too well. Each time she and her group came close enough to Skyhold's line of sight on their way back home from Maker knew where, that call would always mark her arrival. Nothing held as much meaning for her as that, not the crows flying back and forth from them to Skyhold since they reached the first village at the bottom of the Frostback Mountains, nor the people that usually joined them on their ascension, seizing the opportunity to travel in bigger groups over the distance that separated them from their main stronghold. It wasn't even the ruckus that usually reached them from afar coming from the people who had been warned they were near, everyone already preparing to receive their leader. It was that call, the certainty that she was already home, that she had made it again, and that, no matter what, up here, everything seemed to be on hold, at least for a little while, in the last hours when the day was slipping through her fingers as the sun went down, and she could just stop and sigh heavily from her quarter's balcony.

It was home, it was her place, where all her loved ones outside of family were. The people who fight with her, the ones that support her and trust her, where they plan, think, strategize to make everything work. It was their center of operations, their stronghold, and her shelter. Here she felt at peace and could think clearly, here she knew she would find everything she needed... And everyone.

This time, she needed it. Badly. After all they'd been through in Emprise du Lion, three dragons, Imshael, and Suledin Keep included, she was in desperate need of a bath and a long nap.

Normally, everything would have been different. Before Adamant, Imshael's attempts to mess with her head would have been in vain, but now, after all that happened, after all she regretted about her actions and feelings, his words had hit their target.

 _Ah, the hero arrives. But is it hero? Or murderer?_

And that had not been all. To her companions it had been, she knew. They told her and watched her with worry when she complained about the neverending mental grapple with the desire demon. But it was normal; they had not been in the Fade, had not seen what she saw. Maybe if Hawke had gone with them, he could have shed some light on it, too, but no, she had purposely chosen companions that had not crossed the veil with her, deciding that they have some time to spend to themselves before she was forced to push them out into Andraste knew what kind of dangers, again.

She had chosen Varric to give Cole some peace. The dwarf had decided he would not allow the spirit to wallow alone after what he had felt in the Fade, but she had known that the more Varric pressed him to get out and leave the Fade incident behind, the more the poor boy would crawl into the corner, fearful of his own shadow. Eventually, if this lingered, they would have to do something, but for now Cole needed time, and Varric was not giving it to him, so she needed to force him to do it by taking him along.

Cassandra had not been so much a choice as a debt being paid. She knew the Seeker had hated to be left behind when the army departed to the Western Approach, and knew she blamed herself for not being able to save any of the fallen, so leaving her again after that would have been unthinkable. Besides that, she had a selfish reason as well. Cassandra was a rock, she was as strong as anyone could possibly be and had lived to regret some choices she made, even when everyone else thought she had acted correctly. The Seeker had recovered from what she deemed were her mistakes, and had endured the loss of dear people as well as fellow soldiers. And right now, the Seeker was the perfect friend to confide in if she felt heavy hearted, which she did more times than she felt comfortable remembering, since they had departed almost two months ago. Cass had made it all feel better, and had given her just what she'd needed, making her feel a little less oppressed and restoring her strength to get out of her tent every day to face whatever those blighted lands threw at them.

Vivienne had been a practical choice. She had promised Leliana and Josephine she would work ahead of her training and, considering she was less prone to drift into any other subject in her company than in Dorian's, she had been the perfect choice to practice without going off on a tangent.

Right now, though, and since Imshael, she wished she had chosen Dorian to distract her from the dark episode with the desire demon by talking about anything, even something that made her uncomfortable, instead of trying to commit the names and charges of Halamshiral's most important guests to mind.

The demon had talked to her, not in the carefree, relaxed words that he had voiced, but in her mind, whispering, taunting her with the desires that had been waiting right beneath the surface of her skin ever since the Nightmare had called to them in the Fade.

-Everyone has desires. Not everyone makes the choice to act upon them. What is it going to be, Inquisitor? Would you surrender to yours, or do I have to…- his voices had morphed there to one she knew all too well, one that she desired above all, -…ask nicely?- Then she had felt a presence at her back, a warmth covering all her body, preying on her, before Cullen's voice disappeared in the back of her mind, his teeth nibbling invitingly at her earlobe.

She remembered that she had shivered, both in desire and fear, and when his fingers, far too long to be his, had tilted her head sideways to kiss her jaw, she had watched from the corner of her eyes at how everything was lost again. She had watched Stroud die, the demon perishing with him, its lifeless body taking the form of Corypheus, lying there, like a final point to all their struggles, the perpetrator itself motionless, finally defeated, giving her the chance to have a life, a normal one, like any other person in Thedas.

An opportunity.

She would never know if she said that out loud or not, but the demon heard her anyway.

-And it's ours. Yours and mine. We can leave everything behind, forget about what will happen. Look, he is dead there, and we are _alive_. - He'd towered over her, getting close to her lips.- Let's _live_. Forget Thedas.

That had been his mistake. Something Cullen would never do, never say, probably never even think. It had been her salvation, going back to reality to throw Imshael's offer of power, wealth and virgins in his face and erase him from the face of this existence.

But his words still remained.

 _Choice. Spirit._

He had tried to give her the chance to choose, something she had not had a lot of since the Conclave. Maybe it was the wrong choice, just as Hawke had told her Anders had been wrong, but it was a _choice_. And the fact that it burdened her not to have one was something she almost couldn't stand, even when desiring it was wrong, selfish, showing her there was a darker side of her that made her unworthy of everything she wanted for herself. Including him.

-Milady, are you alright?- The Orlesian accent of Michel reached her and brought her out of her musings.

-Yes, thank you,- she replied absently.

-Forgive me, but are you sure? You were sighing quite heavily and...- An idea seemed to strike him mid sentence. -If you are worried about the Empress knowing of our association, I'll go back from where we came. I'm not willing to bring you troubles, Your Worship.

-What? No! Please believe me, Ser, there's nothing further from my mind than that.- She turned her head and looked at him -You are a part of the Inquisition now, Michel de Chevin. One of us. What happened before is no one's business.

De Chevin nodded his thanks and made sure his horse stayed behind her, taking his place in line.

-You _were_ sighing a lot.

-Yes, thank you, Cass, I am _aware_ of that, but wouldn't _you_ in my place?- Cassandra raised an eyebrow in question and Evey pointed toward Skyhold. -In those walls await two ladies and a Tevinter gentleman preparing to make my life a living hell for the next month. We both know they won't be happy I took three weeks beyond what was planned that I stay in Emprise. They'll be merciless and I can't even blame them!

-If it makes you feel any better, they'll probably drag us _all_ into that, especially since you have not decided who you'll take with you to the Ball.

Evey grunted, enjoying the feeling of it since she feared it would be one of the last times she got to do it, at least until after the Ball.

-Don't remind me. Bull wants to come, and so does Sera, but I fear their interest lies in the potential mayhem they can unfurl while there.- She looked at her friend with something close to hope. -I can't imagine you'd like to...

-Don't you dare! I prefer to stay with our forces in the state they assign us.

-Inquisitor!

And there they were. Josephine and Leliana walked briskly toward her horse in a desperate attempt to gain a few extra minutes to the weeks they'd lost since she had decided to stay longer.

Evey sighed. She knew this was going to be terribly annoying and she was positive both women would not waste time berating her now, but they'd seize the time to do that while forcing her training on her, whether she liked it or not. Already, her plans of taking a break and then going to find them were crashing like a flying nug, and she feared it would not be the only one to do so in the times to come.

-Josephine, Leliana,- she nodded to both women before she dismounted and gave her rucksack to the stable boy who was dutifully waiting for her group in the courtyard the moment they arrived. -I'll be with you in a moment, after I...

Josephine didn't let her finish. She took the reins from her and gave them to the boy.

-I'm sure your horse will be in good hands, Inquisitor. After all, we have the best in our ranks and we need to make up for the time we lost.- At this, she waved goodbye to the stable boy and surrounded her along with Leliana. -We'll wait for you tonight for the rehearsal dinner, First Enchanter,- she called to Vivienne before leading the Inquisitor toward the main staircase.

-Why can _she_ have a break and I can't?- Evey realized she sounded like a child, but right now she was feeling a deep panic taking control of her as she found she had no other option but to forget about her plans for the entire day, not to mention month.

-Because I'm fully trained, my dear. I can glide among them without thinking twice. _You_ , on the other hand, are a morsel in their neverending banquet,- answered Madame de Fer herself.

-At least tell me I can have a bath first,- she pleaded to Josephine, who then smiled.

-Don't worry, we have everything planned!

-This is not what I had in mind, Josephine,- the Inquisitor complained from the tub, in full sight of her two female advisors.

Her room had been transformed in something she barely recognized. Her bed, huge as it was, was covered with hundreds of fabric samples, big enough to cover her entire body because, according to the two women, you can't pick a fabric if you don't see how it hangs from your body, or how its hue affects your skin tone. The floor had so many shoes that it would make anyone believe she was picking enough footwear for the rest of her life. Dozens of pairs laid on the floor in so many different colors and styles that her head was beginning to spin just by trying to keep track of them, and that was without bothering to remember designers or fashion styles. Sadly, most of them were so hideous she had a hard time believing Leliana was not being sarcastic when she squealed next to Josephine over the yellow ruffled high heels. And the dress designs! Maker, so many dress designs! They had actually brought a new table that was brimming with different premade dresses and sketches, featuring her in a variety of attires that she feared she would be trying on for the remaining time they had. There was also, of course, the jewelry. She was glad the curtains were drawn, otherwise a simple ray might have left them all blind if one of those stones caught a mere glimmer of sunlight. It was overwhelming, no way around it, and even though she knew she had brought this on herself, she suspected it wouldn't have been too different if they had had more time (worse if possible, probably) since Leliana and Josephine were now sailing through their favorite waters: fashion and politics.

-You gave us no choice, Inquisitor. Every second counts.- She was about to argue when the woman talked again.- Now, let's see if you squandered your time or seized it, as advised. Is it correct to address the Empress as "Your Imperial Highness"?

She huffed. If she failed this one, Vivienne would have her head for dessert. And that was her actual threat, albeit in fancier sounding words.

-Not unless you want to make her think you can't distinguish between her and a princess, something that is hardly recommended.- While taking, she played with the lather in the water, completely bored from the start. -The correct way to address her is "Your Radiance" or "Your Imperial Majesty". And in the case of my illustrious companion for the evening and his sister, the only way is by calling them "Your Highness", and in the case of just dukes and duchesses, without the Grand, you call them "Your Grace" as you will do with a Marquis or Marquise but differently than you would to a Comte, Comtesse or Baron, Baroness, whom you should call "Your Lordship" or Ladyship, but not to a Lord or Lady that answers to "Monsieur" or "Madame" followed by "de" or "du" honorific, as you may to any nobility, no matter the rank,- she raised one finger, pointing to the air, the tip of it covered in foam, -but not royalty. A Chevalier or a Dame go by the title "Ser" and not Serah, or in case of higher ranks, Messere, like we do back home.- She looked at Josie while she reclined in the tub. -Things are much simpler in the Marches.

-Everything is simpler _anywhere_ but Orlais, Your Worship,- Leliana added while inspecting a pair of blue satin shoes.

-And how would you do if you wanted to become Grand Duchess?- Josephine added without commenting on her display of knowledge.

-I can't, for even if I tried, the Grand Duchess title is reserved for those who were princesses but are no longer directly related to the Empress. And since I was never related to her to begin with...-She made a gesture with her hand, as if leaving the matter in the air. -And before you ask, to become a Princess, I would have needed to be born in Orlais, as a direct family member of the current ruler. So, not happening.- Now she was playing smug, and Josie knew it.

-Please refrain yourself from using those expressions in Halamshiral. I'm sure it sounds exotic and amenable in the Iron Bull, but in you...

-It's actually Sera's.- And she added in a lower voice that was still perfectly audible to the women in her room, -I know I shouldn't have enunciate that well.

-And please don't interrupt while others speak. If the nobles find you disrespectful, you'll lose more than one opportunity.

She kept silent for a few seconds as if to show her she had understood and was heeding her advice.

-Please Josie, I know this, I _swear_ I studied all this time. Vivienne made me chant the names of the main nobles in my sleep for three weeks. I deserve a little privacy, yes? At least to take a bath?- She pointed at her submerged body, trying to show that their sudden appearance in her room while she was just getting into the tub was more than unwelcome and that they had forced her to remain underwater while she bathed just to preserve her modesty.

-Don't say "yes?" like that. It's common in Orlais and even in Antiva, but not being from either country, you may risk offending them by using their expressions.

She huffed once again, knowing full well it was not acceptable either and ignoring Josie's glare. Aware now than she would not be able to relax in the water after she had finish washing herself, she then took the towel that was lying on a small table next to her tub and made sure to cover herself as she was getting out of the water.

-And yet I'm unable to use the honorifics I grew up with, lest I offend them too...- She disappeared behind a screen to put on her bath robe. There was no point in getting dressed with all the fabric samples and dresses awaiting her. -None of that make any sense, you know,- she shouted from behind the screen.

-Of course it does! You don't want to insult our host.

Josie was now standing next to her, completely ignoring her attempt to find refuge behind the screen.

-What the...? Josie! I'm still naked here!

-We don't have time for modesty, Inquisitor.- Leliana was at her other side, smirking playfully at the fact that she caught a perfect sight of her bare backside while she was still facing Josephine, holding her bathrobe in front of her. -You have a lot of dresses to try. We are bound to see you naked by the end of the night.

She hoped her expression was as murderous as she was trying to convey. By the look of perfect placidness in Leliana's face, she was either failing miserably or not fooling her. Finally, she dropped her robe and put on fine silken undergarments, but no breast band since apparently it would only be a nuisance with some of the cleavages that her female advisors had picked for her.

-For the record, this is what I hated about being a noble.

She realized it was only going to get worse when she stepped out of the screen to find a seamstress readying all her tools next to a small stool in front of a full body mirror where she was supposed to stand and let her work. She dropped her shoulders in defeat and stepped over the stool.

-All right, but if someone else gets in here, I'm drawing the line!- She stomped her feet on the wooden floorboard below her to prove her point, knowing well that it probably came off as a childish attitude.

-Drawing the line on what, my dear?- Vivienne's voice and her light steps up the stairs called her attention.

-Oh for the love of...!

Josie raised an open hand in front of her face to shut her.

-Don't use the name of the Maker _or_ His Bride in vain. Remember that you are the Herald of Andraste!

- _Allegedly_ the Herald of Andraste,- she corrected. -We know better, and I still think everyone else should.

-Not now Inquisitor; this is literally the worst moment to be honest,- Leliana interrupted.

-Is that what they teach children in Orlais?- She asked sarcastically and regretted it immediately. Leliana was not to blame for her delay in her training or the fact that she was immersed in all this paraphernalia, and yet she seemed to take it out on her more than the others... Perhaps it was her Orlesian accent that spurred her on.

Her Spymaster, nevertheless, was not going to be deterred by some sharp comment.

-Children who wish to survive, yes.- She readied a dress to put it over her head. -Bow slightly towards me; hands up!

She let the dress slide over her body until the hem of the skirt touched the floor, a good 12 inches below where her feet were.

-It's too lengthy. We need to cut it if I'm going to wear it.- She said almost absently while trying in vain to expose her feet from under the hem. None of the women in the room paid attention though.

When she raised her eyes, she found a complete stranger looking at her from an oil painting Josephine was holding before her.

-All right, Inquisitor, now let's see how you fare with faces.- She moved the painting to her eye height. -Who is this?

Evey immediately widened her eyes indignantly.

-That's not fair! We didn't _have_ those in Emprise du Lion. How am I supposed to know?

-Like _this_ ,- said Josephine while waving the portrait in front of her eyes.

-What's the point? All of them use masks, don't they?

-Yes, but still you need to be able to recognize them by their eyes and main features should they wear a partial mask!- She put the portrait in front of her eyes once again. -Now _this_ is Grand Duke Gaspard du Chalons, the man behind our invitation for the night and your companion for the evening.- Josie looked at the picture herself and then rectified, -Though try to imagine him without the mustache. I understand he shaved it, recently.

-The man himself,- the Inquisitor took the portrait and sneered at him. -I haven't attended a ball with a man my father's age since I was fifteen, and,- she laughed at herself - I had _actually_ attended it with my father!

-What did you expect? He is a general in the Imperial Army,- Leliana noted.

-So? Cullen is a Commander of our army, and he is only six years older than me.- She of course talked without thinking, a grave mistake when she was trying to train herself to do just the opposite. Luckily, she was surrounded by friends.

Or so she thought.

-Yes, well, Cullen is special,- Leliana answered with a significant look, and Evey wanted to bury her head in the dress, especially after she heard Josephine's giggles.

She cleared her throat and motioned Josie to continue.

-He is the ruler of Verchiel and was trained in the arts of the Grand Game by...

-Dowager Lady Mantillon, just like Empress Celene,- interrupted the Inquisitor, immediately showing her best smile as an apology. -Sorry, but see? I know things, too.

Josie shook her head and continued.

-The difference between Gaspard and Celene is that he retains his chevalier code of honor when dealing with opponents. Something that might play in our favor when we deal with him.

-The acquisition of Michel de Chevin to our ranks may shed some light over the chevalier's code of honor, at least in those details Cullen's knowledge cannot cover.- Leliana chimed. -Though if you are wise, you'll avoid telling Gaspard about his recruitment. He and Michel don't get along, especially after Gaspard used Michel's elven heritage against him.- Evey opened her eyes like plates, surprised that Leliana knew the delicate information that took her an entire month to get out of the chevalier, and only succeeded once he witnessed her own equal treatment of the elves. -Don't act so surprised, Inquisitor, you'll wound my pride.- She laughed at the same time as Evey.

-You're right, I apologize. You probably know more of us than we know ourselves.

-I try,- she answered with a predatory smile.

Josie cleared her throat in a very feminine way, and when she turned to look at her again, she was holding another portrait.

-This is Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons, Gaspard's sister and the _reason_ Celene is holding a ball. Though she is tied more directly to Gaspard in blood than she is to the Empress, her position is yet a mystery. She seems quite attached to her cousin, but tries to stay on her brother's good side, nevertheless.

-So, she is an opportunist.- Evelyn leaned slightly to the side until she called the attention of the seamstress, then pointed toward her feet whispering, "the hem is too long". Once again, the woman acted as if she could not hear her.

- _Everyone_ in Orlais is, my dear, and you should be, too, if you want to survive.- Vivienne interfered,- She also has a particularly sharp tongue and a commendable wit, on her part. Be certain that the moment you agree to participate in the ball you warranted, you will have to partake in her banter. Step carefully, darling. She is a viper in sheep's clothes.

-We've been through this all month, Vivienne. I'm ready.

Vivienne smiled in a way that made her blood run cold.

-Is that a new necklace, Madame de Fer? I didn't realize you had stopped trying.- Such a mean comment from Josephine while looking absently and with a hint of superiority in any direction but Vivienne's made Evey turn hastily to where her advisor was standing, making the seamstress lose footing and bend forward to avoid pinching her with the pins she was securing to her waistline.

The reaction from Josephine was so out of character that she feared something had happened while she had that brief moment of privacy before they all stormed into her room earlier. Something that had turned Josephine into a full bitch.

Vivienne did not look affronted and instead regaled the ambassador with her best smile. Before Evey could ask what was going on, though, the First Enchantress displayed all her weapons and showed her how the Grand Game should be played.

-My Dear Madame Montilyet, I see that you decided to favor us with your particular brand of _wit_. While I appreciate the no doubt colossal effort you must have expended to come up with _such_ a comment, I worry that you must have hurt yourself.- For a second, she actually looked worried for Josephine.- If your wits are exhausted, who shall entertain the jesters, small children, and pets who look to your wisdom for guidance? Indeed, I fear for your future should your flagging wits fail you.- She made a small pause here, enough to add drama, but not enough to be interrupted.- Fate is fickle, my dear, and you might find yourself replaced in their affections with a cranky golem story. And who would even notice? A word of advice: For a trader of words, you deal in them far too loosely. Better hold on to them lest they lose all value.- She gracefully sat on the ottoman in full view of the stool where the Inquisitor was standing. -You only cheapen yourself my dear.- She barely looked in Josephine's direction while sipping from the tea a servant must have left for them while she was busy trying to cover her nudity behind the screen.

Evey was awestruck, completely frozen, looking from Vivienne to Josephine one after the other, and occasionally including Leliana in her glances, who seemed to share a joke with the others, one that she had not been privy to. Finally, Vivienne smiled in her direction, beaming.

-And _that's_ how you answer to an insult in Orlais.- She left the teacup on a table nearby and took a huge contraption made of lace and silk with what looked like the biggest whalebone frame she had ever seen. -Now be a good girl and hold still.

-What? No! Get that thing away from me!

-Don't be so dramatic, darling, it's only a petticoat.

- _That_ is not a petticoat! I've worn petticoats. That's heavy armor!- She shook her head. -No, forget that, that's _worse than_ heavy armor. In fact I vote for a full scale armor instead of that! I'm a _Marcher_ , for Andraste's sake! I'm not wearing one of those _things_!- She looked at the hem of the dress she was wearing.- Is _that_ why this is so long? so it can cover that _monstrosity_?! Well, forget it! You are _not_ going to catch me _alive_ wearing that!

They made her wear it.

More than once.

For the next two weeks Leliana and Josephine would come up with every excuse in the book to make her wear one of those dresses. And what truly scared her was that she still couldn't find a way to convince them that, no matter how much they trained her, if she wore those dresses she would eventually make a mistake because she wouldn't be able to find anything trapped in those grotesque things. She was used to dresses; it's not like she did not have a feminine side, but fashion in Orlais was completely different from that in the Marches, and no matter how much she tried to understand it, she knew it was impossible for her to feel comfortable in those things. Somehow, she had to find a way to convince Leliana and Josephine that this was not the best option. That is if she could find some time alone to think of a way to _do_ that, something that she doubted she would ever have again, at this rate. For the time being, she would have to deal with it. Luckily, she had at least managed to make them understand that if they wanted to accomplish anything from her today, they'd have to accept the fact that she would wear a Marcher dress, a fancy one, but nothing more.

And so it was that the night of her second week at Skyhold found her in a silken green dress and bodice with cleavage that showed _some_ of her skin, but left enough to the imagination, only to spur fantasies once she turned and showed the same amount of skin at the back. The ample sleeves hung until her forearm, where they ended to open the path to a skintight sleeve that finished on both her ring fingers, covering part of the back of her hand. The skirt of course in no way competed with the Orlesians, but it was big enough to give the illusion that she was sliding on the dance floor instead of dancing.

-Perfect! Now please move that table there, and we will be ready.

Evey still was not sure what to think about Josephine deciding to open their dance lessons in the Main Hall to every noble and commoner in Skyhold, allowing the liberty of choosing whether to attend the Inquisition's humble ball to anyone but her inner circle, whom were forced to practice just a little bit less than herself. Nevertheless, the fact that she was never happy with the space available and therefore unequivocally ended up recruiting the Iron Bull, Blackwall, and the Chargers in a furniture rearrange of the salon was at least a little bit amusing, especially considering the panicked face the Warden had donned since Josephine tried to reassure him by taking up his own dancing training for herself.

Evey, on the other hand, would dance with different partners, both male and female, as it was accustomed in Orlais. The one opening the night with her was usually Dorian. At first, it had been a matter of confidence. From the choice of dance partners, she felt more comfortable and relaxed with Dorian, which had been key to updating her dancing abilities. After all, she did not spend her youth attending her Great Aunt Lucille's balls for nothing. That had been a long time ago, though, and as far as she understood, dances always evolved, especially in Orlais. So, after two weeks of grabbing Dorian's arm at the first sign of dance training, choosing each other for the first dance had turned almost into a tradition and, one way or another, the Tevinter found a way to be the first to take her to the dance floor.

Besides her friend, she had danced with few other people, mostly because up until now, the lessons had been exclusive of her inner circle, and a few more carefully chosen candidates, between them counted an Orlesian dance teacher whom Josephine had hired and had arrived the very next day she had come back from Emprise du Lion. But if she were to trust what she had peeped on Josephine's notes, Leliana, Vivienne, Hawke, Solas (surprisingly), and even Michel de Chevin were all candidates to make her spin over the dance floor later on that evening. The order in which they'd take her out was a mystery, though. To her, it was evident that Josephine was trying to mimic the best she could the scenery that she may find in Halamshiral, where she was to be approached by countless dance partners, and where she would be forced to either reject them politely (after all she could not spend the night _exclusively_ dancing, no matter how many connection or alliances could come from it), or comply graciously. Here at Skyhold, the attendants could not be more eclectic, and under Josephine's careful scrutiny and coordination, any shenanigans (usually provided by Sera, or even Iron Bull) were cut to the minimum or at least did not reach her, lest they distract her from her real training.

The moment the musicians had finished tuning their instruments, Josephine called her attention.

-Right, Inquisitor if you please?

She was gracefully waiving at her to join the rest of the couples (the number of dancers was key to learn how to move in a real ball) while still focusing on pairing the remaining members of her inner circle.

-My fair, long lost cousin, will you honor me with this dance?

Lately, Dorian had gotten into the habit of calling her "cousin", fascinated by his discovery that on the "dank nethers of his family tree", there was a Trevelyan, what made them "three ages" removed cousins, and their new private joke, one that incited dozens of new rumors and scandals that delighted her friend and gave Josephine a serious headache more times than she liked.

-Monsieur Pavus,- she answered with a fairly decent Orlesian accent, -how can I refuse?- Evelyn bowed before taking his hand and stepped onto the dance floor.

After all this time practicing, they were a sight to be seen. Dorian led, but they moved in a synchronized choreography that they had improved in just a few lessons. She practically floated in the air, and he followed with grace but manliness, making the perfect couple in every way. At least in appearances.

From the other side of the hall, Cullen watched the couple carefully. He knew there was nothing between them; Dorian's words were perfectly etched into his memory, yet he couldn't help but feel slightly jealous, not closing his ears to the whispers that reached him from the Inquisition's guests and servants present, that night. They _were_ a beautiful couple, a perfect one, were not for Dorian's preferences... Even _with_ them, he knew many parts of the world would consider them perfect for each other. And that bothered him to no end.

There was, of course, that other problem. He didn't dance. He never had, and he suspected he never would, no matter how much Josephine insisted on it. He had lost count of how many times he had explained that his role in the Inquisition did not demand that he _dance_ with anyone, not even in Halamshiral during those festivities. He was the Commander of the Inquisition army, where, unsuspiciously enough, there wasn't any dancing involved. And therefore, no one was expecting him to partake in frivolities.

Of course, Josephine thought otherwise, but both suspected that was a lost cause from the get go. Still, the Ambassador had insisted he should at least be present for the rehearsals which she forced on the Inquisitor, though he had no idea what reason she had for it. She had been adamant about it, and considering it provided him with a break once per day for at least 2 hours, he decided he could use it to tone down the stress they'd been suffering lately. It was, nevertheless a distraction, and he usually ended up retiring early to finish his paperwork.

Today, the night had just begun and he had a long way to go before he could surreptitiously escape Josephine's attention and walk back to his office. At the same time, he had to admit that the sight of Evey in a dress, carefree and happily dancing was something he hardly wanted to miss. Cullen knew by now that some people brought that side of her out more than others, being more comfortable in the company of anyone from her inner circle, Hawke included, than with nobles who were practically strangers, or even Josephine, who was so immersed in the training that even if she wanted to keep Evey entertained, she could not help but seize the time back and therefore kill any joy the Inquisitor might find in dancing. Eventually, her face would be a polite mask of kindness, but the feeling would not reach her eyes, and her laugh, if anything called for one, would not be as wholehearted as it was when in the company of her people. And in private, he hated not being one of those people.

He was of course one who had her trust, and he even dared to say she had saved some of her affections for him, but he was not one of _those_ who now held her in their arms and made her spin across the dance floor, provoking that beautiful smile that usually haunted his best dreams. He could not, had no idea _how_ to, only some vague notion from when he was younger and he had been dragged to town festivities with his fellow Templar friends who complained that the Order was not everything and that he needed to meet a nice girl. Still, those were peasant dances, and he was bad enough at those to know he would disgrace his image by trying to step up to her ability, which had been nurtured in her since birth, being a noblewoman. No, he could not, no matter how much he dreamed of having her in his arms again, only this time, happy and carefree. He would not risk stepping on her toes, or worse, onto the low hem of her dress and shred it to rags. No, the best call right now was to stay where he was and just admire her from afar for as long as it took Josephine let her guard down so he could slip out of there.

-She is a natural, is she not?

The calm voice made Cullen almost jump where he stood. He had not noticed Solas standing next to him.

-She possess a grace that would shame many. A grace difficult to find, in a human.- The Commander did not expect the elf to notice the potentially offensive observation he had just made. Solas probably was aware of it, but did not care. He often spoke his mind and made comparisons, even between his own people, that could be catalogued as offensive, so to expect him to refrain when it came to humans was delusional at best.

-She does,- he answered trying not to sound too simpering. In that moment, Dorian took her by the waist and raised her in the air in a spin, her hair and dress flowing free as a halo around her. Cullen fought hard to repress a sigh, and instead ended up fidgeting in place, trying casually to look anywhere but at her.

-Take advice from someone who has lived enough, Commander: Dreams are not exclusive to the Fade, nor are desires to demons.

Cullen turned and looked at the elf in surprise, truly wondering what the other was trying to tell him.

Solas did not look back at the Fereldan, his gaze instead fixing on a smiling Evey, and clasped his hands behind his back. Then he breathed deeply, almost as if he was thinking of something regretful, his sight obscured for just a moment.

-Time can be too short to linger in doubt.

And with that, the lone apostate walked away, rounding the dance floor until the music stopped and Josephine ushered him to take Dorian's place.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29: The Decoy

No matter how many times it happened, no matter the circumstances or how much he had loathed them in the past, Cullen always felt a pang or guilt when he was forced to kill a mage. Not because he thought he was doing something wrong, or that he believed it hadn't been necessary. He knew perfectly well that, when cornered, a mage was as dangerous as any warrior, perhaps even more so considering they could call upon demons for aid just by utilizing the same blood drawn amidst a fight. Even still, when presented with the choice, when it came down to a matter of "kill or be killed" and he emerged the victor, burying his sword in their flesh, it was always accompanied by a keen sense of guilt.

Chillingly, it was the simplicity of the act that awoke that feeling in him. The lack of resistance their bodies presented, even in cases where they yet had some ward protecting them… It was so far removed from trying to push his way through chainmail, or searching for the infinitesimal points of weakness in full heavy plate armor so he could strike out and breach the vulnerable body underneath. No, it was the coldblooded act of slicing a man apart without any resistance that truly disturbed him. To get through it, he habitually told himself there was no other way, that he knew he was fighting something inarguably evil, or even that he knew that, if he did not act first, the other would kill him as certainly as the sun hiding beyond the horizon at the end of the day. And even when he'd done it to protect something he cherished more than his own life, still he felt tainted by it.

And now in the most unlikely of places, at the bottom of the Frostbacks, far enough from the Inquisition's last settlement, he was feeling it all over again; this sensation he had left behind after experiencing it more than he felt comfortable admitting back at the Battle of Adamant. It didn't make the fight impossible - it wasn't even a distraction now, after years of growing familiar with the odd sensation while serving as a Templar - but it was unquestionably disconcerting, especially since his change of heart towards mages in the last years, and it made him feel like each and every plunge of his sword, cutting through mages like warm butter, was a dent in his soul, a stain in what little purity was left of him for the Maker to recognize.

The Venatori had clearly been waiting for them. They had chosen their position carefully, waiting patiently as the whole group went deep into the rift in the mountainside that lead directly to the main road toward the Dales. They had anticipated they would choose that path, instead of circumventing it and losing daylight when they were only a couple of hours away from home. The enemy had carefully positioned their men to attack each of their forces before a counterattack could be organized. And they even had tried to set fire the carriage, where the Inquisitor was supposed to travel, but was thankfully not due to her stubbornness to ride amidst the forces rather than being meekly transported like the lady she was.

-I'm the Inquisitor first, the Herald of Andraste last, and a rogue somewhere in the middle. I'm a lot of things before being a lady. That title had lost its position with me since more important responsibilities arose. I'll travel according to those and then, if there's time left, I'll see to the lady part.

Back then, that declaration had been a reason to smile… but now it had him worried. He knew that a normal carriage would not be secure in this situation, too prone to be set ablaze, with walls too thin that could be taken down by just a few men, or even with windows not narrow enough to prevent a well-placed arrow from meeting its intended target. But this was an Inquisition carriage.

For the last month, Harrit, Dagna, and the best craftsmen of the region (all of them completely loyal to the Inquisitor and their cause) had worked for unending hours on Dennet's advice to build the perfect carriage that would grant her security and would not exhaust the horses a mile into the journey. But of course, she had refused to travel while locked in a carriage. She had said as much, warning them before they spent too many days working on what she thought was a masterpiece, but one she would not be using. Still, it was fairly useful in transporting the weaker members of the Inquisition, such a Josephine and her entourage. Cullen, on the other hand, would have loved to see her there with them right now, instead of worrying about her getting hurt in the chaos that had fallen upon them.

When the fight started, he had urged his horse forward, gaining ground until he was close enough to the Inquisitor to prevent her from taking any damage. Now, the fight had separated them again, and after yanking his blade from the chest of a Venatori, he looked around frantically, searching for her.

A quick inspection revealed that the last of the enemies were falling at that very same time. Fortunately, and probably thanks to the fact that the Venatori were more focused on reaching the Inquisitor and not stopping to kill her soldiers in what almost looked like a suicide mission, the Inquisition did not have to regret any casualties. Injuries were another thing entirely. Almost a dozen of the fifty people in the caravan had suffered some kind of injury and were being treated by the mages and physicians with them.

He heard a thump on the other side of the caravan and, before he could wonder if Evey had provoked it, he heard her speak.

-How many more are with you? How many assaults have you prepared?

She had trapped a spellbinder alive, but barely. The man was bleeding profusely from a wound in his stomach but was still glaring at her with such hatred that no one would have thought life was indeed pouring out of him with each gush of blood.

She pushed him again against the walls of the carriage, the runes Dagna had carved into it glowing in response to the proximity of the spellbinder's magic. At the same time, Evey drew one of her daggers and edged the tip against the mage's throat.

The man smiled perversely.

-Tens, hundreds, thousands! You'll never be safe. The Elder One shall rule!- And just like that, he pushed himself forward, burying her dagger in his neck with a sadistic smile.

Evey let go of the man, more due to surprise than anything else.

Cullen stared at her in concern, trying to imagine what she was thinking, but her eyes revealed nothing. She simply pushed the corpse of the Venatori aside and walked toward the wounded to see how they fared.

With this, Cullen fell into his role again. She was safe, at least physically, and now was not the time to try to learn more about what she was feeling. They needed to figure out how to proceed if they were going to keep traveling to Halamshiral.

He called one of his Generals (Rylen had stayed in charge of the troupes in Skyhold) and began assessing their situation, while still thinking continuously about the attack.

He had been careful. Cullen had planned ahead and sent troupes to make sure the terrain was safe to travel, to clean the road of any enemies that might have been lurking, and went over every single contingency that could go wrong whilst preemptively trying to thwart it. It should have been easy. They were, after all, traveling through friendly territory. And even though he would never dream of letting his guard down in terms of security, especially when it involved her, this had been something completely unexpected. There hadn't been Venatori sightings in over a month; those small groups that had ventured too close to Skyhold had been eliminated immediately, so even sending the scouts days before they began their journey had seemed like an unnecessary precaution.

The words of the suicidal Venatori echoed in his mind, and with this experience to curb his certainty regarding his security measures, he felt trapped. He could not ask for a retreat. They needed to get to Halamshiral, but if what that man had said was true, this attack would be one of many.

Cullen knelt next to the spellbinder, trying to find anything that could give him a clue about the veracity of the Venatori's dying words. The search didn't last long; the man had only the bare minimum with him. The most notable item was a thick leather book that stunk of blood magic, but it was filled with symbols and runes, and written completely in Teneve. He thought about giving it to Dorian to translate, but this was hardly the first Venatori spellbinder they had found according to the Inquisitor's reports. He doubted they would find anything useful within its pages.

-They were targeting her specifically. All the wounded are soldiers that stood in their path toward the Inquisitor,- Leliana's voice announced from above where she had stood next to him.

Cullen nodded.

-I know. They fought blindly to get to her. Nothing else mattered, not even their lives. I guess they assumed she would be vulnerable while trying to defend the caravan.- He stood to talk to her face to face.

-And they were right. Solas is healing the stab wound she received in her arm while trying to protect her seamstress.- Before Cullen could ask what in the Void that woman was doing in the middle of the fight, clarified, -She panicked when a marksman shot a flaming arrow at the carriage and raced out of it to find refuge. In her haste, she didn't notice she put herself in the path of a Venatori stalker. The Inquisitor did, and ran to her aid.

-This wouldn't had happened if she were traveling inside the blighted carriage.

-Maybe, but you won't soon convince her of that. We tried already and she will not set foot in that carriage, much to Josephine's despair. But I might have an alternative. If we play our cards right, she might agree.

oOo

She disagreed. Oh, how she disagreed! Their discussion had stretched over half an hour before she decided that she had had enough and gave the order to resume their march, which left all responsibility for reasoning with her on Cullen's shoulders.

It took him almost three more hours to make her realize of the true intentions behind their plan. The Venatori had obviously targeted her specifically, and since she could not leave the Inquisition entourage without risking a political scandal, according to Josephine (a lot of people were waiting to catch a glimpse of the Inquisitor in her diplomatic role, and not the warrior that some had already witnessed). They had decided it would be best to part ways with the rest of the caravan once they reached the crossroads separating the Frostback Mountains and the Dales, leaving a decoy to take her place. It would not be a perfect doppelganger. In fact, _that_ was part of the plan as well. One of the women in her retinue would take her place, posing as the Inquisitor from afar. Nothing that could withstand a closer inspection, with barely a resemblance, that could fool those whom had not seen her in her travels before, leaving the Orlesians happy and the Venatori with the realization that the Inquisitor had split from the group, rendering their assassination attempts useless and leaving the caravan be to focus on searching for the real Inquisitor.

Evey did not like it, of course. She claimed the Venatori could still attack the caravan to strike a blow to morale, adding more deaths on her account. But the evidence was against her. The only attack the caravan had suffered (the flaming arrow from a marksman) had been before they had discovered she was riding her horse at the back of the convoy. After that, their whole focus had switched into that part of the company, leaving the women and men in the vehicle frightened, but inarguably safe.

That didn't mean she had made things easier for Cullen. By the end of the day, he was actually quite proud of himself and the impressive deploy of stratagems he had successfully employed to convince her. Or maybe he had just been lucky. Or perhaps she had disagreed with everything but her heart, knowing her advisors' suggestion was the best option, but not one of which she was overly fond, and therefore not one that she could wholeheartedly accept without at least showing some degree of protest. _Maker_ , for all he knew she may have complied just because some of her friends asked her too, or because she found this half of the trip more agreeable than the one in the company of Josephine, and Vivienne, whom thought they could seize the time to practice politics a bit more.

In the end, the reason was inconsequential. The important thing was that she had relented, and here they were, four instead of fifty, in the middle of nowhere rather than on the main road, calmly setting two tents aside from the, at least, fifteen that the complete entourage would need, finally at peace.

They had found a secluded alcove perfect for the night. Its entrance was completely covered by dense, almost frozen vines, and was large enough to allow them to enter one horse at a time. Inside it was not very deep; in fact, it was barely twelve feet deep, but they hardly needed more. This way they could find refuge from the weather and unwanted eyes, and, with any luck, rest after a tiring day.

Their proximity to the Frostback Mountains at the border of Emprise du Lion forced them to set the tents even though they had the alcove to protect them from the worst of the elements. The spring was still too young to warm the weather and make the night bearable to sleep outside, and yet it was enough for its temperature, and the warmth coming from the animals and them, along with the small fire they lit to cook their meal, melted both the lingering snow nearest them, moistening the terrain, and the fine ice layer covering the stone walls as well, casting a freezing drizzle over them.

Cullen was almost done setting up one of the tents, Bull getting the other one ready, when he felt a small hand rest on his shoulder, followed by words softly spoken close to his ear.

-Cullen, dinner is ready.

He turned to find a different woman than the one that had entered the alcove half an hour ago. Evey had let her hair lose, and had taken off the metal sigil of the Inquisition that protected her chest over her leather armor, opening a few buttons of the same vest that she had worn on the morning he had interrupted her while she vented her frustrations in the riding circuit near Skyhold. Her cheeks were stained red from the closeness to the fire while she cooked for all of them, and her hair was damp, probably from the weeping walls, giving her a disheveled and flustered look that spurred Cullen's fantasies far too much for his comfort.

-Right, I'll be there in a second,- he answered, avoiding her gaze lest she notice how she affected him, focusing on securing the last guy line instead.

They had set the fire next to the rear wall of the alcove, between a crevice a little bit deeper than the rest, where the fire could be relatively hidden, making its glare less noticeable from the outside. Just to be sure, Cullen had suggested that they also set the tents a few feet ahead, so they could hide it even more. Still, he had already been planning possible guard rotations for the night, and considered the more vulnerable points of their hideout ever since they had decided to spend the night here. He was determined to not make the same mistake twice, even if the attack that afternoon had been everything _but_ a consequence of negligence on his part.

He was about to sit next to Bull when Dorian quickly outmaneuvered him, leaving him no choice but to sit on the other rock they had settled, right next to Evey. Said rock was not big enough to sit comfortably without stepping into the each other's personal space, not even by a long shot, but neither was the other. Dorian was almost dangling from the corner of the rock he and Bull shared, since the qunari occupied most of it. But refusing to sit next to the Inquisitor when he had clearly just demonstrated that he had no objections to sitting next to a creature three times her size would have come off as rude, instead of what it truly was. Evey made him feel more confused, nervous, and vulnerable than he had ever felt, and for Cullen that was unexplored territory. He had been trained to master his fears and his feelings in favor of his duty. She had the power to overthrow all the Templar teachings, and that was something Cullen was not accustomed to dealing with.

With those thoughts well and truly in mind, he stayed put, absently eating, all his body tense, elbows pressing firmly into his sides, all due to her proximity. Her own elbows were grazing his armor from time to time, and even through the steel he could feel her, almost as if the armor were also part of him. He wanted to finish his meal as soon as possible and retire to the tent, away from what she was inadvertently doing to him.

-So Boss, what's the plan?- Bull's voice forced him out of his musings.

-You ask this now? You volunteered to join us and you had no idea what the plan was?- Evey answered.

-To be honest,- Bull replied with a full mouth,- I was getting sick of all the whispers and giggles coming from the carriage every time I got in their line of sight, and that happened a lot. I was tasked to _protect_ them. I'm not against calling the attention of nobles, but when I can't prove to them just how "huge" I am,- he mimicked the voice of the noblewomen when saying "huge", -it gets tiresome quickly.

Evey shook her head and laughed silently, making her body shake, which caused Cullen to breathe deeply when she got closer to him.

-Well, you should probably ask Cullen here. I am, after all, still with the caravan in case you forgot.- She winked at the qunari.

-Right, right. You look great despite not being here, Boss.

His voice combined with the look he passed over her entire body was so suggestive that Cullen's grip on the bowl tightened. Evey, of course, was not deterred by the insinuating qunari and was holding his gaze with a smirk of her own. Still, Cullen could not bear this for too long and since he was addressed in the conversation, he decided to chime in.

-We will continue our advance through the forest until the crossroads twenty miles out from Halamshiral, where we will rejoin the rest of the group and restore the Inquisitor to her post at the head.- He left the half filled bowl on the floor next to the rock where they were sitting and continued, -We travel faster than them, so we will have to adjust our march to reach our destination at the same time. It will take them five more days to get there, which means we will have plenty of time to spare.- He thought for a second. -All of us will be able to get a good night's rest, despite taking it in turns with guard duties.

Dorian intervened then.

-What guard watch? I didn't just spend half an hour setting up glyphs all over the perimeter for nothing! Anyone who gets curious and tries to sneak inside will become disoriented and desist after losing track of his actions. So you can sleep calmly; _nothing_ is going to bother us, tonight.

Cullen had a hard time even considering not to take guards, the concept completely ridiculous to him, especially since overconfidence played them a bad turn that very afternoon. His companions nevertheless seemed to take it as something completely normal, a notion not even worthy of discussion. He, on the other hand, was very willing to discuss it.

-Do you usually do this?- He asked Evey in a tone that was harsher than he intended. The idea of her relying on only glyphs to keep her safe disturbed him far more than he was ready to admit.

-No. This spell requires too much energy from the person casting it. We usually take guards.

Dorian took the reins of the conversation here.

-But since we have time to spare today, we can indulge in it. I'll have plenty of time to overcome the consequences of casting.

Cullen looked back at Evey and was surprised to find her smiling openly.

-It will be good to travel without many worries weighing on our shoulders. We might even enjoy it for a change.- She winked at her companions right before the mage decided to burst her bubble, and with it, her smile.

-Don't get your hopes up, my dear,- he said, looking straight to Evey. -Josephine gave me enough material to keep you busy.- He found his backpack and opened it in her direction, showing a stack of parchments and portraits. There was even a thick book that gave Evey the chills immediately. It was a compendium of the royal family tree line and the history of each ruler of Orlais throughout the years. In the four weeks of her training, she had come to hate that thing with all her being.

She didn't dignify Dorian's commentary with an answer, though. She just growled and left her own half filled bowl on the floor as well. The book had made her lose her appetite.

-And don't growl. It is not _ladylike_ , Inquisitor,- Dorian grinned, imitating Josephine's Antivan inflections.

-Don't make me kill you, Dorian,- she replied with a hint of amusement, but enough seriousness to make one doubt her real intentions.

-Please don't, Boss, or I'll end up sleeping without something to hug,- Bull winked with his one good eye.

Evey smiled devilishly.

-Oh, so you _are_ bunking together?- Evey pried, looking to Dorian and completely amused that, for once, he was the one being made fun of instead of the other way around.

-What can I say? I need my beauty sleep, and I can hardly get that if I'm relentlessly kicked in the middle of the night.

-It was _one_ time, Dorian!- Evey frowned, all amusement gone.- And Cassandra didn't complain.

-But _I_ would. Besides, how many more times do you need, my dear?

-Fine! But don't come crying to me when Bull starts snoring.

-I can shut him up with a simple spell.- He completely ignored the " _hey!_ " of Bull, complaining about the very idea of someone casting a spell on him without his knowledge. The qunari barely tolerated it when he was aware of it. -Stopping you from fidgeting while you sleep is a little more complicated. Besides,- he said, lowering his lids, and Evey just knew she was going to regret whatever he said, -you might enjoy the Commander restraining you.

- _Good night, Dorian!_

The implications of their exchange dawned on Cullen as fast as his fogged mind could work, which was somewhere around Dorian's last intervention. He was about to silence them when the mage said the part about Cullen restraining Evey while sleeping.

Normally his mind would have cast an unpleasant scenario, one where Evey were thrashing and he would be forced to restrain her and wake her up from a grimly nightmare. But the way Dorian had said that, so insinuating, and how she had dismissed him, completely scandalized, yet with a growing blush creeping from her neck and upward, brought all varieties of unbidden ideas to Cullen's mind.

 _She likes that?_

The image of Evey, disheveled, panting below him, smiling and arching her back to reach his lips while he held her arms tightly on either side of her head, made him woozy. For a moment, he wanted to punch Dorian until the image was erased from his mind with the mage's words.

 _And I'm supposed to share a tent with her? Maker's Breath, are they trying to kill me?_

-I'm sorry about… that.- Evey's voice was merely a whisper. In fact, it was so soft that in normal circumstances he would have leaned on her to better listen, but right now that was the last thing he would do. The situation was uncomfortable enough. He glanced at her and registered her uneasiness. She was kicking the dirt below her boot, trying desperately not to make eye contact. Apparently, the others had retire while he was too busy imagining her.

-It's alright. I wouldn't mind actually.

When she raised her head to look at him with what he interpreted as total scandal, he realized what his words must have implied.

-Oh Maker, I didn't mean... as Dorian said...- He sighed heavily, -I meant I wouldn't mind if you _kicked_ me.

She once again lowered her eyes to the ground and he totally missed the faint smile on her lips. Cullen knew what he had to do, but even though he knew this way would be easier for both of them, it still saddened him.

-It would be more appropriate if I slept here.

-What? Absolutely not! You'll freeze and get soaked in an hour. Please don't pay attention to Dorian,- she voiced the last sentence loud enough for the mage to hear. From the depths of the tent, they could hear Dorian mumbling something, but the words were not clear enough to understand, as if the mage had no intention for them to hear him. -I'll make sure to sleep facing the tarp, that way you won't get hurt even if I kick.

-It's not that. You are a lady. I should sleep with the men.

-Unless you are willing to sleep _over_ one of the men, I can hardly see that happening.- Inwardly she smiled, thinking of what Bull and Dorian would say about the Commander sleeping over them. Cullen would probably end up blushing like mad and completely humiliated with only one of their responses to that proposal. -Besides, I was born a lady, but _now_ I'm the Inquisitor, and demanding a tent only for me would be troublesome during our travels, not to mention completely annoying. We have enough of that to contend with in Vivienne, thank you very much.

While he was still smiling from that last comment, she stood up and extinguished the fire. Then she took her backpack, brushed his shoulder as she passed by, and silently went to their tent, disappearing behind the canvas.

oOo

 _Maker! He needed to calm down!_

He never felt so torn in his life. Part of him was ecstatic that he was going to share a tent with her, close enough to feel her warm body lying next to him, only mere layers of clothes and covers separating them, falling asleep together in a picture so close to his own fantasies that it was threatening to drive him crazy. And the other part, the one that focused on the differences between his deepest dreams and reality, felt this as a cruel punishment for his past sins. To have her so close and yet so far away, to lay next to her with a wall of decorum, friendship and clothes separating them from his true desires was almost torturous.

He had dreamed of this. Andraste's Eyes, how many times this had plagued his nights, replaying over and over in his mind, no matter how much he tried to repress it. And the worst part was that all those fantasies had not begun so differently as how she had parted from his side a few minutes ago. Granted, in his delusions the brush of her fingertips had fallen over his shoulder, only a thin cotton shirt separating her touch from his skin, not over his pauldrons, and instead of ending there, the caress had been followed by her leaning over him to softly kiss him on the lips, momentarily looking over his shoulder to the piles of reports scattered on his desk in the tower before whispering _"come to bed, love"_ and walking not too dissimilar as she had just done, but in the direction of the ladder leading to his (their) bed, smiling suggestively to him before grasping the first rung and pulling herself up, her hips swaying as she climbed, making it harder to ignore the tantalizing beauty that would shortly be resting in his bed, probably naked and waiting for him.

A crack in the dying embers woke him up from his fantasy.

 _Maker this is going to be the most trying night I've ever lived!_

He momentarily considered the possibility of just sleeping here, but discard it almost immediately. She was a stubborn woman; Evey would come looking for him if he didn't come to the tent in the next few minutes.

 _-Andraste preserve me,-_ he whispered quietly enough that no one could have heard him. Shakily, he got up, retrieved his rucksack, and mentally prepared himself to join her inside.

As he reached the flap and opened the entrance, he made sure to make as much noise as he could to make his advance noticeable. Cullen didn't want to surprise her in a compromising position. _Does she change her clothes when she sleeps rough?_ He didn't know for sure, but it was logical to assume that she at least removed her armor, especially since she seemed to entrust so much in those glyphs Dorian had settled. He was not so sure, and being all but forced to share a tent with her, he had already determined to wear part of his armor for the night. It wouldn't be the first time in his life to do so, and certainly not the last.

Before entering, he whispered her name by the canvas of the entrance and waited for her permission to step inside, ignoring completely the veiled, tittering giggles that came from the tent next to theirs.

He had tried to prepare himself for it. After all, he had seen her in worse situations far more compromising for her. He had even guarded her while she lay unconscious and naked behind the covers in the Frostback Mountains after he rescued her from the cold night after Haven. Not that Cullen had seen anything. He had never dreamt back then that he would ever see her naked, and he hadn't, even when he had been close when she was injured in The Western Approach and Solas had asked for his help to bandage her leg. But both those times, though fodder for his treacherous mind when he was assaulted by the memory of her body in the loneliness of his nights, he had been too preoccupied for her safety to fully appreciate what he was witnessing.

Now, in this tent and as alone as they were under the attentive ears of Dorian and Bull, of whom were completely awake if their laughs a minute earlier were any indication, he could not ignore what was right in front of his eyes.

Probably luckily for him, the moonlight did not get through the vines in the alcove entrance and the canvas enough to light the scene completely, but the faint glow they were steeped in showcased the image of Evey Trevelyan, only clothed in a shirt and a worn out pair of cotton pants, kneeling next to a tanned leather bedroll and preparing the other next to the one she was in, far too close to each other for Cullen's liking, but far enough that both bedrolls were next to one of the tent walls. He had noticed before that this tent was smaller than the other one, but he had just assumed that was because it would only be containing a single occupant while he and the other men would share the other one. He never dreamed of having to sleep with her in this tiny thing... _Maker give me strength_.

She turned her head to the entrance when he opened it, smiling at him.

-I took the liberty of preparing your bedroll. If you need any extra covers, we can share this one.- She unfolded the blanket that she had bunched in the middle of both bedrolls to show him it was big enough to cover them without any problem. It was a crude green fabric, and Cullen recognized it as the roll she'd carried behind her in the back of her saddle that morning.

The idea of sharing the cover as well as the tent made him even more awkward, and he merely shook his head, barely managing to utter a word.

-I'm sure I I'll be fine,- he swallowed hard. -Thank you.

She nodded and, without another word, entered her bedroll and covered herself with a pelt and her half of the green cloth she had offered him.

He then tried to fall into his routine, only foregoing the part where he completely removed his armor to climb into bed. It seemed to go well, and after a couple of minutes, he even thought she had fallen asleep, despite the noise he made removing the extra layers of metal he'd laid over the light chainmail he'd added to his usual armor for this trip. It was not as thick as average mail, and it would not stop a blade as well as the others did, but it was enough to keep him from having to face a surprise attack at night with nothing but his shirt and pants, at least protecting him from major slashing should the situation arise.

He finished undressing as much as he dared and laid next to her in his separate bedroll, trying his best not to make a sound, which was hard enough with the mail sounding like tiny bells every time he moved, but then she turned in her bedroll to face him.

-What are you doing?- She was looking at him as if he had intruded in her private chambers and snuck into bed with her.

-What do you mean? I'm preparing to sleep.

She sat up on her bedroll, the covers falling from her body to her lap, and extended her hand to take the sleeve of his chainmail, showing it to him.

-Do you often sleep in your mail?

He closed his eyes and sighed heavily.

-It's a precaution. If we are attacked...

She didn't let him finish. Whispering as high as she dared to not wake the others up, she answered as if he was a child talking nonsense.

-Take that thing off, Cullen. Dorian is an amazing mage and Solas' glyphs are infallible. He trained Dorian to master this spell for weeks just so he could use it if we're sleeping in some ruins and we have time to spare to wait for recovery. Believe me, nothing is going to get through it. Now take it off.

He knew this was more than how she tried to make it sound. She was testing his confidence in her companions and in herself, and that was something he did not want to put in doubt. So he sighed once more, thoroughly defeated, and sat up in his bedroll.

Unfortunately for his frail nerves the damned mail took his shirt along with it when he pulled it over his head, leaving him with his chest bare in front of her. It wasn't the first time, he reminded himself in the span of a second. She had seen him without a shirt that night she had helped him cope with his withdrawal symptoms, but that did not make it easier.

He looked at her with wide eyes, desperately trying to pull his shirt out of the chainmail, and was surprised to find her staring straight at him, even traveling her eyes from his face to his stomach and back up again before looking away nervously. She stammered something in a very low voice and then cleared her throat lightly.

-Good night, Cullen,- she said afterwards and turned once again.

It didn't last long, though. An hour later Cullen was still awake, lying in his bedroll on his side, watching the tent's still roof, desperately trying to calm his mind enough to sleep when she actually rolled over and ended up even closer than before. She rubbed her cheek in the bundle of clothes acting as her pillow, as if trying to find the perfect spot to rest her head on, and when she found it she sighed and hummed lightly, her breath reaching Cullen's face. He tried to ignore her, but the feeling of her breath upon his cheek made it impossible.

He rolled on his side as well and faced her, enjoying the unique opportunity he now possessed to watch her without worrying she'd notice. A part of him felt almost like a fiend, watching her while she slept like some kind of stalker, but another part reminded him that he had little option but to do that. If he turned to face the canvas he would have to either stuck his face against the side of the tent or move his body even closer to her to get some room between the tent and himself, and considering the limited space they had, that would leave his back practically touching her.

So there he was, completely trapped both physically and emotionally. He couldn't deny he had dreamed of lying next to her, and of being able to contemplate how she slept, peacefully and safely, preferably in his arms...

He realized his mind was trapped in a loop since he found out they were sharing a tent, over and over replaying the same stray thoughts and fantasies, torturing him beyond what was tolerable, and his patience with himself was growing thin.

Stubbornly deciding not to let his own feelings overwhelm him, he laid on his back once more, ignoring the main protagonist of his fantasies sleeping next to him, almost inviting him to hold her through the night.

He began to silently recite the names of every soldier he could remember in order to keep his mind off of her, willing his body to relax and fall into the waiting arms of the Fade. Half an hour later, he had succeeded.

oOo

The night had been difficult, but the morning proved to be almost impossible.

Cullen woke up, as usual, with the first light, even if said light hardly reached them through the canvas and the vines. Years of training and months of fighting his lyrium withdrawal usually pulled him out of bed with the sun, and today was no exception.

The woman lying next to him was, though. Especially since she seemed to be holding him.

At first, Cullen didn't understand what was happening, still too groggy to fully recall what had transpired the night before. But the moment his eyes opened and focused on the canvas almost touching the tip of his nose, it all came back to him. He was in a tent, in the middle of the Dales, sleeping with the Inquisitor, who was now so close to him that they were practically melding together. He could feel her breath on the back of his neck, her lips almost tickling him when they moved. Her full body touching his. Cullen could even feel the shape of her breast between his shoulder blades and her legs bending behind his own, pushing her body flat against him, spooning him, their feet entangled together. She had one arm around him, possessively holding him as if she were afraid he would leave. _How did she get inside my covers?_

Cullen swallowed roughly. The last time he had felt her like this was the night she had watched over him, when she had hugged him in a similar fashion, though his armor and fogged mind prevent him from remembering clearly. Now everything was coming back to him. The feeling of her so close, the smell of her skin, the movement of her chest when she breathed, and even the thump of her heart in his back. It was glorious and terribly uncomfortable, especially when he tried to move and she sleepily complained, holding him tighter and nuzzling him on the back of his neck, and slid her hand from his chest to his lower abdomen, dangerously close to his pants, that were getting that much tighter by the second.

To make things worse, she rearranged her position, rubbing her body against him, almost like a cat trying to caress herself with his body. He could swear the only thing lacking was the purring - until she did that as well. To be clear, it was not exactly purring, but some form of humming, right at the back of his neck, making his head spin and his body react immediately, his blood flowing furiously south and his heartbeat increasing until it reverberated in his ears, breathing growing deeper.

She was killing him, and he would have been grateful for it.

The spell broke when her hand resumed her explorations over his lower abdomen, grazing the hem of his pants, desperate to seek skin where the fabric began. _That_ made Cullen react. He took her hand and stopped her before she could enact something he would regret allowing her to do in these circumstances. He wanted to let her do whatever she desired with him, but Maker, not like this. She needed to be awake, reassuring him it was he, and not some other man, that she was looking at through the Fade's eyes, his body a stand-in for her dreams. And yet it was so tempting to allow her these flitting explorations and play the part of the victim instead of the victimizer when she awoke.

Cullen clenched his other hand, furious with himself. Obviously he was not thinking clearly if he was considering something so despicable, at least in his mind. He needed to get out of there before everything took a turn toward the wrong path.

Carefully not to wake her, he moved her hand away from his body, trying to put distance between them even though he was already practically pinned against the side of the tent. Slowly, he untangled their feet and sat up, discarding the part of the furs that covered him between them, subconsciously trying to build a wall separating her body from his, which screamed in need of her. He realized then that what kept them warm during the night wasn't just any fur, but his own cloak. He had left it between them the night before, having no other place to lay it, and somehow it had ended covering both of them.

The moment she lost his warmth, she reached for him again, finding his cloak instead, and clutching it tightly against her body, burying her face in the fur, mumbling unintelligibly. Cullen spared one more second, unable to not file that image away in his mind before he sighed heavily, grabbed his pack, and escaped the tent.

oOo

Dorian was never able to sleep too much in the wild, not even after the glyph's spell drained him of his strength. The lack of something as essential as a mattress was a sticking point that he would never be able to get used to. And that insidious bundle of things that Bull stubbornly defined as a "pillow" was hardly the divine cloud of goose feathers he enjoy back at Skyhold, rendering his travels into something just short of head torture. Ah, but the homecoming was sheer bliss! Every time he once again reached civilization was like arriving at a foreign paradise. The first day, he hardly deigned to show himself until well past midday, too enthralled with the opportunity to, once more, enjoy the marvels of progress.

Still, while in here he could hardly rest beyond the strict amount of time his body claimed to be functional. And then his problems compounded by the blast of mental magic that struck him right when he was struggling to escape from the Fade, in that sacred moment when one knew one would have to wake up, but one's body refused to heed orders and just stubbornly decided it was better to lay on the floor with an obnoxious root piercing its way into the damned spinal cord than get up and breathe pure air that was not contaminated with Iron Bull's pungent morning fragrance.

It took Dorian only a second to know who had activated the glyph. Luckily for the Commander, he had stepped over it from the inside, or else now he would be prancing around the forest wondering what in the Maker's name he was supposed to do.

There, sitting in the tent next to Bull, Dorian seriously considered leaving the glyph active and enjoying the confusion Cullen would experience once he tried to get back into camp. But then something more interesting called his attention.

 _What could have made our fearless Commander leave the camp without thinking on the consequences of crossing the glyphs without waking me first?_

Something had prompted him into action, and Dorian knew it wasn't any threat, otherwise the glyphs would have been activated before.

 _So what made you leave her, Commander?_

A devious smile spread over his face. This, whatever it was, was bound to be enjoyable... Well, maybe not for Cullen and Evey, but he would definitely have a blast as soon as he figured out a little bit more about it. And he knew just where to begin.

Kicking Bull away, who barely registered the aggression, he got up and out of his tent, already donning his favorite white coat, the buckles and straps falling into place while he walked and secured them almost automatically.

When he opened Evey's tent flap, the sight that greeted him felt like a gift from Andraste herself. There she was, Evelyn Trevelyan, the mighty Inquisitor, cuddling an imaginary Cullen made of his cloak, her leg over the mantle, face buried in the mane as if it was his hair, sleeping soundly.

Dorian smiled to himself. He then remembered how Sera had once latched onto him in a similar manner after a particularly trying day. Of course, the moment she realized what she was doing, she screamed and insulted him, effectively waking him up and rendering him deaf for the rest of the day by yelling directly into his ear. If Sera, whom had as much interest in men as he had in women and therefore lacked any ulterior motive, had spooned him so shamelessly, Evey could do so with the man that turned her from a brave and fearless leader to a blushing damsel, no matter how much she denied it.

With another careful look, Dorian closed the flaps and retreated to light the fire. After _that_ night, Cullen would probably need a strong tea, and luckily for him, Dorian always carried some of his favorite, whether to drink it himself or just to annoy Solas each time he brewed it early in the morning.

While he was waiting for the water to boil, he thought about the unfortunate situation the Commander must have awakened to. Mornings were usually not easy for men, but if you found a particular alluring creature that answered to your tastes nestled perfectly by your side, clinging to you and awakening your body before you could cross the Fade borders and come back to this world, you were bound to react even more energetically than you would if you awoke alone.

He had to admit that Cullen masked his interest well, so much so that back at Haven, Dorian was not completely sure if the Commander's attraction toward his friend was merely physical or something else entirely, although now it seemed pretty obvious which one it was.

But sometimes self-control was rendered useless when presented with just that particular brand of sin. And he was absolutely sure Evey was the right kind of morsel for men's basic appetites. Even he could see that, and he was not even _that_ kind of men.

-So, that leaves our Commander in a tight spot.- He laughed at his unintentional pun, enjoying immensely what all of this could mean.

Finally, a distraction worth of its name to entertain him the rest of the way to Halamshiral.

Watching the Commander react to the plan, Josephine, Leliana and himself had for Evey the night of the ball was going to be an experience by itself. Almost like watching one of Varric's tales come to life.

oOo

Around three hours later, Cullen and Bull were preparing their horses while Dorian and Evey finished assembling all their gear when Dorian decided to watch the Inquisitor more closely.

Ever since she woke up, she had been deep in thought, as if she was trying to figure something out. Cullen and she were purposely avoiding one another, but Dorian suspected they had different reasons to do so. Cullen's were evident to the world. Dorian had seen how she was sleeping, hoarding not only his clothes, but his side of the tent, where he could only assume the poor Commander had been cornered before he awoke. The Tevinter imagined Cullen had escaped a compromising situation, both with her and his own body, and his suspicions has been confirmed when the Commander came back half an hour after the water boiled with the hair on the nape of his neck damp from what Dorian imagined had been a desperate attempt to distract his attention from the tantalizing memory of such awakenings. He also had a guilty expression, similar to that of an adolescent whom sought privacy to cope with the consequences of youth when discovering and struggling with the worst of his desires. To Dorian, the look on Cullen's face when he entered the alcove, without even noticing he shouldn't have been able to so carelessly, were Dorian's glyphs still active, and his eyes unconsciously searching for his and Evey's tent, had been adorable. The man looked appalled, and at the same time radiated such longing that could break anyone's heart. Then his mind had registered the fire crackling and the strong tea smell, and had looked into the alcove entrance and back at Dorian over and over like trying to understand how he had forgotten about the glyphs.

As for Evey, her reasons to avoid Cullen were harder uncover, but if Dorian had to guess, he imagined she was conflicted, wondering if she had slid to Cullen's side of the tent before or after the Commander had left on the spot. She fidgeted relentlessly in place and doubted more than once each time she found one of Cullen's possessions, unable to decide if she should be touching anything of his or not.

And the worst part for her was that the Commander was doing nothing to ease her doubts. He tried to act completely natural with her, very much so by the looks of his clenched fists and jaw when she was not looking but was close enough to him, but from time to time, he could not avoid the blush that crept from his neck up while looking at her, probably reminiscing their interaction a few hours ago, or his own some time after that.

Hours before, when they had eaten their breakfast, Dorian had taken pity on them and had rushed to occupy the place next to her by the fire, not missing Cullen's heavy exhalation of breath when he realized he did not have to sit close to her. But now, Evey was making it difficult for him to ignore her dreamy eyes while she looked at the Commander, preparing their horses next to Bull.

-Did you get some sleep?

Dorian's voice startled her, and she immediately busied herself folding a green wool cover that the mage particularly hated, but that she seemed to love carrying to warm her at night... when she didn't have the Commander, of course. This last thought made Dorian's smile widen and his inner demons wake up to come out and play.

Evey turned and looked at him with his devilish smile, fearing the worst, and raised her defenses.

-Of course I did.- Dorian's look was more than eloquent, his eyes expressing a doubt he did not feel, but that he knew would make her feel uncomfortable enough to probably slip and confess. -What are you trying to insinuate?

Dorian rejoiced. She was so delightful. She had walked right to his trap like a mouse hypnotized by a snake dance.

-I'm not insinuating anything. I'm saying it plainly.- He then looked to the Commander. -If I were in your place, I wouldn't be able to sleep at all.- His eyes turned more hungry. -Thinking of ways to lure him into my side of the tent... and then into my body.

Almost at the very second the last words had left his lips, Evey was jumping to shut his mouth with her hands, not quite touching him, but covering his lips from the other's line of sight as if Cullen would be able to read his scandalizing words from afar.

-Dorian!

He didn't look at her, instead concentrating straight on the Commander with a predatory gleam in his eyes. Imagining his friend's interest in the man, he would have never been able to act upon any of his own desires, even if they were as strong as he was hinting. He was merely trying to provoke the Inquisitior, and by the sounds of it, it was working.

Eventually Evey couldn't stand it and positioned herself in the mage's line of sight, although failed miserably in covering the Commander from his eyes. Then she added, almost whispering,

-Dorian, please don't. He doesn't share your interest and I don't want him running away from Skyhold.

This time, the mage turned to look at her, smiling lovingly.

-Oh don't worry, my dearest. I would never step into _your_ territory.

The Inquisitor feigned scandal followed quickly by total boredom, moving away from her friend as if she didn't find his provocation funny or intelligent. She walked a few steps and knelt to close her backpack with a tie, finishing her job prematurely.

-I don't know what you're talking about.

Dorian smiled triumphantly. He had her where he wanted.

Now the _coup-de-gras_ , as the Orlesians said.

-Riiiight,- he stretched the i in "right", openly mocking her, -that's why you were clutching his cloak this morning, burying your face in our very own lion's mane.- He had squatted next to her, whispering in her ear with that deep voice he knew sent shivers down her spine. Upon finishing his statement, he had to retreat hastily to avoid a head bump when she turned to look at him.

-How did you...- The mortified look disappeared as fast as it appeared, barely leaving him time to register it before it sunk in a polite mask.

 _Ohhh Josie you trained her well._

-I don't know what you are talking about.

Dorian got up at the same time she did, carelessly agreeing with her.

-Of course you don't,- he dismissed his own accusations as though they had been a crazy notion.

As a depredator he waited, grabbing his and Bull's gear while she got hers and Cullen's, almost like trying to prove she could manage his stuff with the same lightness that she could manage anything, and began to walk toward the horses.

It was only when they were a couple of steps away from Bull and Cullen that Dorian decided to walk past her and whisper in her ear.

-Oh, by the way, your hair smells like him.

After triumphantly walking straight to his horse and mounting it, he turned his head just in time to see his friend still nailed to the same spot she had been when he last spoke, looking completely embarrassed.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30: Into The Viper's Nest

The Inquisition's complete retinue arrived to their destination on the morning of the Ball six days later. The moment they stepped inside the city of Halamshiral, their path was blocked by three women in identical dresses and masks, standing a few feet away from a massive fountain that would have put the one in the Summer Bazaar at Val Royeaux to shame. Evelyn stepped out of the carriage she had been forced to enter with Josephine and Leliana, and Cullen dismounted to join them at the front of the caravan.

The three women waited until they were a few steps away before they bowed graciously. The middle one was the first to talk in her a thick Orlesian accent.

-Inquisitor Trevelyan, in the name of her Imperial Majesty, welcome to Halamshiral.

-Your Radiance begs your forgiveness for not receiving you personally,- the one on the right added, only to be followed by the last woman in the group on the far left.

-And she trusts you will hold conference with her tonight at the ball, once the peace talks no longer require her.

Evelyn slightly bowed her head to the ladies in front of her, realizing everything she had thought they'd find in Halamshiral paled in comparison to reality. These three seemed to share a singular brain between them, which was apparently not a particularly brilliant one. However, she had learned something in the last month: not even those that looked naivest, innocent, or dimwitted were harmless. In Orlais, the only masks visible to the naked eye were the ones used to cover the face and indicate station, but that didn't mean they were the only ones… nor the most dangerous.

Of course she could imagine who these ladies were, but the fact that they didn't bother to introduce themselves showed a veiled attitude of superiority, as though by virtue of being a Marcher _and_ Gaspard's guest, she was not important enough to completely benefit from the full display of their manners.

Unluckily for them, Evey had been well trained, and she was not about to let them step over her from the very beginning, so with a polite, yet bored expression, she answered the women before her.

-I'm afraid we haven't been properly introduced.- From the corner of her eye she could see Vivienne, Blackwall, and Dorian, who had been selected to attend the ball this evening, joining her. When she spoke again, she channeled the mannerisms of Madame de Fer, head held high with arrogance, donning a slightly proud smile.

The woman in the middle acted surprised, holding her hands in front of her ribs as if she was about to sing an aria.

-Oh! How rude of us to forget! Milady Inquisitor, may I present Lady Couteau,- she indicated the woman on her right with a small movement of her head. The alluded bowed hers and continued with the introductions herself

-...and Lady Colombe,- she said looking at the woman on her other side.

-...and of course, Lady Fleur. We are the Empress's ladies in waiting.- finished the last one.

Evey acknowledged them with a movement of her head that purposefully fell short of a bow, lest they think she was accepting their previous delusions of grandeur.

-A pleasure to meet you, ladies. Allow me to introduce you to Lord Dorian Pavus, Warden Blackwall and Madame Vivienne,- she said, pointing to her companions, -as well as Commander Cullen Stanton Rutherford, Lady Nightingale and Ambassador Josephine Cherette Montilyet, though I imagine you are well acquainted with all their names and titles.

That last part garnered a giggle from the ladies, one that she wagered was accompanied by a perfectly forced and useless blush, since their masks concealed it perfectly.

-Yes, of course; we were awaiting yourself and the rest of your committee.

-You have been assigned twelve suitable quarters in the Winter Palace for you and all of your closest companions.- Evey did a quick account of all her inner circle and advisors. They had forgotten about Cole, of course, if they ever knew about his existence in the first place, even though he had timidly stepped forward and was now curiously watching the three ladies with a confused look.

-As well as rooms in Chateau de la Providence for the rest of your retinue. It is where all of the high profile guest's companions are staying,- the last woman intervened in an excited tone, as if she were disclosing something most exhilarating.

Evey on the other hand was not so thrilled. She knew for a fact that Cassandra would hate to stay in the palace, especially since that might force her to attend the ball despite adamantly wanting to avoid it, even if she was not part of the Inquisitor's official retinue for the night. Worst of all, quarters in the palace itself would mean Sera would be just short of a menace, running free in the halls of the guest wing during the night, doing Maker knew what. Perhaps she could persuade Solas to magically lock her door once the ball was over, and pray that by then she had not wreaked havoc in the palace.

-That is most gracious of you, my ladies. If you could be so helpful as to show us the way, we will leave you to your duties.

With that, she had been more than eloquent. She had dismissed them perfectly, exactly how a veteran player of the Game would, and her trainers could not be more proud.

The rooms were in fact in the palace, but they were not all together. Her inner circle was in the opposite wing, and her advisors were dozens of rooms away from her. The official reason was that she had been assigned a more opulent room, but they knew better. They were trying to isolate her, to test how well she fared without someone coaching her.

The fact that Gaspard's room was next to her own was a veiled insult as well, trying to insinuate that the only reason she would have chosen to ally with the chevalier instead of the Empress was if she was already inclined toward him in other, more private aspects. Evelyn, Josephine, and Leliana did not pay too much attention to it, but to Cullen, it was the first of many things that would make his blood boil that night. The man himself was nowhere to be seen thus far, but to know they would not only be seen as companions for the night, but possibly lovers as well, did not sit well with the Commander, memories of Evey clinging to him as she slept still fresh in his mind, unable to do anything to quell his possessiveness of her, at least inwardly.

His quarters, as well as Josephine's and Leliana's, were somewhere between the grandiosity of the Inquisitor's and the simplicity of those assigned to the inner circle. Well, at least to _most_ of the inner circle. Solas and Sera had received rooms that, to Orlesian nobility standards, was barely worthy of that name. At first, the Inquisitor had been furious and was about to personally demand better accommodations for them, knowing perfectly well that the reason they had been so thoroughly insulted was purely because they were elven. But when Sera dismissed her outrage with a snort and Solas explained that filling a complaint would only lose favor with the nobility, which they sorely needed now, Evey bit her tongue with difficulty and decided against making a scene, asking Josephine to quietly take care of that slight immediately. Two hours later, both elves had been moved to better accommodations and the Inquisitor had received a "truly heartfelt" apology on behalf of the Empress, who probably meant it as much as she meant to leave her Empire willingly into the waiting hands of Duke Gaspard.

Save for that mess, though, the rest of the day passed by far too slowly, Cullen only burning a few hours when he was called to refine details with the Inquisitor, and then discuss with his soldiers in the Chateau. By contrast, for Evelyn the day sped by all too quickly, yet not fast enough for her liking. On one hand, she wanted to get over and done with all of this, especially the falsehood of it all. Each hour, new gifts were sent to her room to sweeten some sort of appeal, ranging from dance requests to even a bold insinuation of sharing the night together after the ball was over. On the other, as the time went by she felt more and more uneasy with her own abilities, fearing all her training would be for naught once she faced the real Game in all its glory.

Her room was immense but, similar to what had taken place in Skyhold for the last four weeks, both her female advisors, Vivienne, Dorian, and too many of their personal servants (they were not going to risk using the Winter Palace ones in case they were also spies) came and went constantly, preparing her for the night and making the huge space seem much smaller.

Two hours before the appointed hour, she had bathed and received a hairdresser, makeup artist, and a seamstress, all of whom immediately began working on her. The latter was occupied on the dress she would wear the next day for their departure, since her and everyone else's uniforms were ready. That part made her particularly happy amidst the chaos she was forced to endure. After more hours than she cared to admit, she had convinced both Leliana and Josephine to let her wear the same uniforms all her companions and advisors would wear. The red and blue regalia did not leave enough room to don her usual armor beneath, but it would have to do. They had discussed the dangers of trotting into the Winter Palace without any other leathers for protection, and had finally agreed on a lighter leather chest piece with a low-cut neckline that would play the part of a corset below her uniform. That way, if someone was crazy enough to risk attacking her, she would not be completely vulnerable, but she would still have to be careful, seeing as the piece was not as protective as her usual armor was.

But, alas, it was better than an Orlesian dress.

An hour later, her hair was partially up, an intricate braid encircling her crown and joining in her nape to finally fall with the rest of her hair, leaving only a few strands to frame her face beautifully. They had added delicate, small flowers all over in an ivory tone that, in her opinion, did not quite coordinate with the uniform, but, according to the women and Dorian, looked perfect.

As time went by people began to leave. Vivienne was the first, affirming that she needed the time to ready herself for the ball, only to be followed closely by Josephine and accompanied by the makeup artist, and then Dorian, who had had his fun and decided it was time to get his looks immaculate for the night. The seamstress and hairdresser were the last to leave, followed closely by Leliana, who parted with encouraging words for a far too nervous Evey.

-You still have time. Use it to relax, and then change into your clothes. Do it slowly, methodically, and try to will your breathing to calm. You are ready, but you need to _believe_ it before walking out that door.

Evey smiled at her then, her confidence peeking around the corner where it had hidden moments before, when she realized the time had gone by faster than she'd hoped.

oOo

-I hate you both,- were the first words that came out of Evey's mouth once she joined Josephine at the gates of the Winter Palace that night, along with the six bodyguards that would follow her upon her entrance to the ball.

-I have no idea what you could possibly mean, Inquisitor,- came Josephine's sweet answer before looking at her up and down in appraisal, smiling prettily, -but I must say that I believe your change of heart toward your wardrobe is most gracious.

Evey repressed the grunt that was desperate to emerge. She was aware that she had been bested, but that did not mean she had to like it.

Deep down, she knew the dress, which she'd had no option but to wear once she'd searched her entire room and found nothing but this attire, was more adequate to the night's events. The problem was that if any fight should arise, she was going to have to face it without the freedom of movement the Inquisition uniform allowed her.

The dress was a moss green, embroidered with the same pale tone of the flowers in her hair. The style was overall Marcher, but with a few Orlesian details to pay homage to the local fashion, which would in no way go unnoticed. The best part, and the one she was most grateful for, was that the skirt was not one of those monstrosities common in Imperial nobility, but also not so dissimilar from the ones she had been rehearsing with back at Skyhold. The neckline was low to accentuate her bosom, but not enough to be considered scandalous or to show the corset/leather armor she adorned beneath it, and the sleeves were puffed to her mid upper arms, only to be skin tight down to her wrists, where they each ended in a fine point which draped just a bit over the back of her hand.

The color of the dress gave her a clue on who else had plotted this. She clearly remembered Dorian, Josephine and Leliana commenting on how good green looked in blonds, highlighting their natural hair color, and how she should exploited that trait on her favor.

Being as it may, she could already see a masked man waiting for her entourage in the garden, so the time to discuss her friends' little coup had passed.

With a heavy sigh, she stood behind the six guards and nodded to them to signal they could advance.

The gates opened for them (a couple of palace guards had the annoying task of open and closing them for every guest) and the Inquisition officially entered The Winter Palace.

Her guards marched a few steps in and flanked the path for her, three on each side, completely unfazed by the hundreds of heads that turned to focus their eyes on them, whispers already reaching her.

Gaspard seemed fascinated with the spectacle they were displaying, including him a second later when he stood a couple of steps ahead of the Inquisitor, lowering only enough to reach for her hand and plant a soft kiss on its back.

-Inquisitor Trevelyan!- he stated loudly, ensuring more than one gasp of surprise around them, which delighted him. -We meet at last! I've heard so much about you.- The fact that he didn't bother to bow completely was not unnoticed to her; Gaspard was aware that his position superseded hers, at least in Court. Everyone knew that positions were a relative concept, depending on the chosen battlefield. Whereas here she suffered an indisputable loss in regard to influence over him, in Skyhold, or even at a more "religious" event, she could be claiming an overwhelming victory over the Grand Duke.

-Bringing the rebel mages into the ranks of your army was a brilliant move,- the masked man added. She had to admit that his voice was quite enthralling, as if he was whispering from the Fade within the skin of a demon, his low tone luring her to where he wanted. -And the rumors coming out of the Western Approach say you battled an army of demons. As a chevalier, I must say your reputation on the battlefield impresses me, My Lady.- His eyes watched her closely, almost possessively, from behind his mask. -Imagine what the Inquisitor could accomplish with the full support of the rightful Emperor of Orlais.

 _So, the Grand Duke thinks he's got me already,_ Evey thought after his blatant display of confidence. Maybe it was the influence of the nobles in her inner circle, but she felt she was going to enjoy bringing him back to reality, always behaving like a Lady, of course.

-And which one _was_ the rightful one, again? I keep getting them confused,- she teased, smiling radiantly.

Gaspard did not disappoint. This man was not only an impeccable strategist, but also a consummate seducer. Now he did bow, almost like pledging himself to her, which she knew was diametrically opposed to his true intentions. Perhaps Gaspard did not wish her ill, but he had his own agenda to adhere to, and she had the distinct sensation that if she did not join him, he would not weep while pushing her out of the picture.

-The handsome, charming one of course, My Lady,- a cunning smile grazed his face, perfectly framed for his mask. Without fully dissolving his smile, he added in a more sober tone, -I am not a man who forgets his friends, Inquisitor. You help me, I'll help you.

 _Scratch his back and he'll scratch mine. No matter how far I want to keep myself from his claws. Well, sometimes you have to get inside the lion's cage in order to tame it._

So she smiled, avoiding answering directly, but letting her eyes give him enough confidence in an unspoken pact, which she hoped he would believe they had just signed through stares.

Gaspard then began to walk to the fountain, surreptitiously looking for some privacy, and at the same time strolling close to enough nobles in his path to let the rumors of them being together ensue.

-My Lady, are you prepared to shock the court by walking into the Grand Ball with a hateful usurper? They will be telling stories of this into the next Age.

He was enjoying it, the whispers, the shocked looks, the unrepressed gasps. Still, his humor was contagious, and Evey allowed herself to follow it without losing sight of the potential threat he, and everyone else here, could represent.

-I can't imagine that crowd has seen anything better than us in their entire lives.

Gaspard chuckled and pierced her with his eyes like a predator.

-You're a woman after my own heart, My Lady,- he said, lowering his tone.

For some reason, his answer reminded her of Solas' comment on this event. The Grand Duke might not be the best player of the Game according to her advisors' debriefings, but he was an Orlesian noble, and the heady blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex, as her elven friend had put it, was as palpable in him as in any other player. Everything in the Winter Palace implied a fight to disrupt the balance of power, and as such, one could never be too careful.

-As a friend, perhaps there is a matter you could undertake this evening.

 _Oh, so we are friends now, Grand Duke? How convenient when you need to ask me something_.

By this time in the evening, Evey realized that she would be listening to herself answer with words that could never fall from her lips for the entirety of the night.

-This elven woman, Briala.- The Inquisitor tried excruciatingly to repress the raising of her brow. Everyone knew that King Alistair of Ferelden's efforts to give the elves a respectful place in society had not rubbed off on the Orlesian lifestyle... not that it had worked out too well in Ferelden either. -I suspect that she intends to disrupt the negotiations. My people have found these "ambassadors" all over the fortifications. Sabotage seems the least of their crimes.

After Leliana's information about Briala, she was willing to consider that the ambassador was up to no good, but the fact that Gaspard was hinting her culpability merely due to her elven heritage bothered her to no end, and it reminded her of how much Michel de Chevin jealously protected his secret for the exact same reason. The odd part was that Gaspard _knew_ of Michel's heritage yet did not condemn him for it, so his judgment of Briala was not completely in character. There was more here than he was letting on.

-Tell me there's more to your suspicions than "the elves were acting dodgy."- If Gaspard did not like her answer, he didn't show it.

-That "ambassador", Briala, used to be a servant of Celene's. That is, until my cousin had her arrested for crimes against the Empire to cover a political mistake.- _Ah!_ The lover turned enemy. So it wasn't just unimportant gossip. Apparently Gaspard also put stock in the rumor. -If anyone in this room wishes Celene harm, Inquisitor, it's that elf. She certainly has reason.- After a small pause, the Duke sighed heavily. -Be as discreet as possible. I detest the Game, but if we do not play it well, our enemies will make us look like villains.

Again with the plural. A tactic, of course, to subconsciously ease her into the idea of joining forces, but if the Grand Duke thought _that_ would be enough to persuade her, he was gravely mistaken. She was going to act upon proofs, not mere sympathies.

-We are keeping the court waiting, Inquisitor.- He offered his arm. -Shall we?- The words barely got out of his mouth when Gaspard was interrupted by another masked man asking for a minute of his time.

By the way the man talked, he held great respect for the Duke, far more than what simple protocol dictated, and too much not to reveal the masked man as a chevalier under Gaspard's command, disguised as another guest in the Palace. Playing dumb, she nodded to Gaspard when he begged for her forgiveness and retreated with the promise that they would meet at the main door in a few minutes.

On her way to the upper floor of the gardens, she heard a plethora of gossip, some even worthy of remembering in the hopes that Leliana could use them to gain leverage tonight, or in the near future. But there were two in particular that made her stop in her tracks, that is, for something other than finding and returning a lost ring that would probably bury a woman's social life if it remained missing.

The first one was exactly what she had expected to hear from the moment she found out the Inquisition was going to attend the ball:

-Is that the Inquisitor?- a masked woman in a giant dress asked her male companion, a fop that looked at her with unhidden disdain in his eyes and then turned to look at the woman who had asked the question.

-What, a _Marcher_? Don't be absurd!- Yes, there it was, the first honest greeting she would get in this viper's nest.

-One of the Trevelyans, I've heard,- the woman insisted, trying to conceal an inquisitive look at her.

Her companion made a derisive noise to show the other what he thought about her limited knowledge on Marcher nobility.

-Trevelyans have only one daughter, and she is a Chantry mouse.- _That_ almost made her laugh, and at the same time triggered a burning desire to show this man just how much damage a "mouse" could inflict, especially with the dagger hidden on her upper thigh. But Evey decided against it; the man was right after all. Before the Inquisition, she was the epitome of a Chantry mouse, doing little else besides reading books to compensate for the claustrophobic feeling of being restricted primarily behind Chantry walls.

The other piece of information she gathered was not so amusing. It involved someone she had prayed to not see or hear from again for the rest of her life.

-Are _all_ de Laucents here?- a woman asked another one.

- _Maker!_ I hope not.

Evey's blood literally froze at mention of that name. Not because she feared the de Laucents, but because if, truly, _all_ of them were there, that meant Emile would be as well, and judging by the insufferable amount of letters she had received, insisting over and over on their allegedly "Maker blessed union", she knew for a fact that keeping him away from her would require nothing short of incapacitating him, perhaps more than that. Even though she was not _entirely_ against that idea (Maker knew the world would not fall to pieces for Emile's absence), she was aware that it would look less than flattering to the Inquisition for their fearless leader to beat a man into oblivion... even if that man was so intolerable that nearly every noble in attendance would rejoice internally.

 _Andraste, if you love me as people are inclined to believe,_ please _let him be anywhere else but at this ball,_ she prayed.

-Inquisitor, a moment, if you please?- Josephine called. Obviously her advisor had seen her alone and had seized the moment to give her some last minute advice. -I'm sure you know how to handle most nobility, but the Game is nothing like the Free Marches' intrigues, as we've informed you to the point of exhaustion, lately. Please, keep that in mind for the rest of the evening. It is no simple matter of etiquette and protocol. Every word, every gesture is measured and evaluated for weakness.- She emphasized "every" to show her she was not exaggerating.

Evey's sarcasm was there to answer, partly because that was her own way of hiding her worries about tonight, and also because she knew Josephine needed to relax, and making her smile seemed the best way to do it.

-Don't they sound delightful. I'm shocked we haven't invited the court to dinner at Skyhold. In fact,- she lowered her voice as if telling her a secret, -I just came across a pair singing my praises. We should certainly invite them to spend a season with us.

The trick worked, and Josephine chuckled faintly.

-I'm sure your life would be most interesting if we did that. -Sadly, the effect did not last long and the crease in her brow showed the Inquisitor that she was still anxious. -Remember, the Game is like Wicked Grace played to the death. You must never reveal your cards. Those people you mentioned are probably sloppy players if they let their true opinions slip that easily, especially within earshot. Still, inside lies the true players.

Evey noticed Josephine was trying desperately to repress the urge of looking behind her in the direction of the ominous wooden gates.

-These people burn cities as a diversionary tactic and assassinate one another as a feint. So be extremely careful. When you meet the Empress, the eyes of the entire court will be upon you.- She made a small gesture, as if she had swallowed something bitter. -You were safer staring down Corypheus.

-You are just full of joy and light this evening. Somehow I can't picture Corypheus in a dress,- she added with a pensive look. When she heard Josephine's small laugh, she turned the conversation to more urgent matters, trying not to sound too serious, lest she ruin the relaxation in her ambassador. -It might be a good idea for the others to hear this warning. Especially Sera.- She paused for a second, considering the matter carefully. -Maybe tell her twice for good measure.

-I'll have a few... discreet words.- Then Josephine sighed and whispered at the same time boot steps could be heard behind the Inquisitor, signaling Gaspard's return. -Everything will be fine… Andraste watch over us all.

The hastened return of the Grand Duke stopped her from asking her advisor about Emile's presence at the ball. Thinking through it straight, perhaps that was a good thing. Josephine had a lot in her plate, and the threat of the Inquisitor crossing paths with someone that was particularly annoying for the Herald was something she would be better off not knowing about.

-My Lady? I beg your forgiveness. A man in my position suffers from these interruptions more times than not, and sadly, the Game must be played,- Gaspard said to her back, almost whispering in her ear. Then he stepped to her side and offered his arm.

She took it gladly and braced herself for the night to come.


	31. Chapter 31

**Before you read this chapter I have some things to clarify. Oddly enough in the game the Inquisitor refers to the Grand Duke and the Grand Duchess as "your Grace" but, as I already wrote in chapter 28: Game Play, that is not the correct way to address them, since they are not mere duke and duchess. According to dragon age wiki, the correct way is "Your Highness". So, I changed that from the in game dialogue. Remember that for the next chapters too ( wiki/Orlesian_royalty_and_nobility)**

 **Another thing, there is a dialogue between Dorian and Leliana that I owe to my lovely beta Melicius Intent, she wrote the words as a joke while we talked, but it was just so good that I begged her to allow me to add it in the story. I merely gave her dialogue context.**

 **And in case you are curious to actually see the dance between Florianne and the Inquisitor (here you'll only see it from a third party point of view) here you have the link to it (it has the same dialogue options I use here) watch?v=wKV_4rK7M_I**

 **Oh, one more thing, this chapter features the first "I love you" of the story. (spoiler alert? I don't know, is it really spoiler if you know from the beginning this is a love story? ;) )**

 **ENJOY :D**

 **oOo**

Chapter 31: Into The Mouth of the Beast.

-And now, presenting: Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons.

The alluded descended the stairs and bowed to the waiting public, immediately turning to where she stood behind him, extending a hand in her direction as she too was presented.

-And accompanying him...- That was her cue to follow suit, and thus took her steps delicately. -Lady Inquisitor Trevelyan, daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick! Vanquisher of the Rebel Mages of Ferelden, Crusher of the Vile Apostates of the Mage Underground! Champion of the Blessed Andraste herself!

She reached Gaspard's side, but did not take his hand. The gesture was not meant for her to do so, intended only to divert the public eye to her entry, and the man began to lower his hand as soon as her shoe clicked on the first step of the staircase. On the other side of the room from a balcony, Empress Celene bowed in acknowledgement to them with barely any movement besides her head. Gaspard and she reciprocated with a deeper bow that they would have to repeat once they'd reach the other end of the dance floor.

From a few steps behind her, Vivienne whispered to her.

-Remember to smile. This is all for show, my dear.- Almost immediately, her lips obeyed the mage, hardly consulting with her mind first.

Then it was Gaspard's turn to smile, and even chuckle slightly, leaning towards her enough to capture the audience's attention as he whispered in her ear,

-Did you see their faces? Priceless.

From over her shoulder, she could have sworn she heard a growl, one that resembled Cullen's a great deal, but in the midst of all this she couldn't be sure.

After standing there some time and allowing the attendants to admire them, Evelyn and Gaspard began to walk down to the other side of the ballroom, with the voice of the court crier marking their advance.

-Accompanying the Inquisitor: Madame Vivienne, First Enchanter of the Circle of Magi, Enchanter of the Imperial Court, Mistress of the Duke of Ghislain.- Were she not warned ahead of time about the ruthless Orlesian compulsion to expose one's secrets, and had she not familiarized herself with Vivienne's story and the fact that the Enchantress was proud of her position as a mistress to the point of cultivating a perfectly amicable relationship with her lover's wife, she may have been shocked at the title which the presenter had just given her in full hearing of all the Ball's attendees.

-Lord Dorian Pavus, member of the Circle of Vyrantium, son of Lord Magister Halward Pavus of Asariel.- There was another pause here, one she was sure Dorian was seizing to let everyone in the grand room fully appreciate his debonair appearance.

-Warden Blackwall of Val Chevin, constable of the Grey. Bearer of the Silverite Wings of Valor.- _Wings of Valor?_ There was something she didn't know previously about her friend.

Another pause, perfectly timed with her and Gaspard's arrival at the exact middle of the dance floor.

-Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath. Commander of the forces of the Inquisition. Former Knight Commander of Kirkwall.- She heard Cullen's steps at her back, slowly walking toward them. -Lady Leliana, Nightingale of the Imperial Court. Veteran of the Fifth Blight.- A surprised gasp escaped more than one mouth at that, fooling no one. Everyone knew that Leliana had fought alongside the Warden and her band, which also included no less than the current sitting King of Ferelden, but of course they couldn't resist dramatizing everything. -Seneschal of the Inquisition and Left Hand of the Divine.- At this, whispers arose, probably fueling discussion of the Divine's untimely demise again.- And Josephine Cherette Montilyet of Antiva City. Ambassador of the Inquisition.

A moment later, all three of her advisors were at her back, and it was then that Gaspard chose to turn to her side, taking her hand and kissing it in a slight bow (with the consequent wave of gasps and whispers). Then he advanced alone until he was atop the other set of stairs, right below the Empress' balcony.

The Inquisition representatives remained there whilst the crier continued on with his prepared speech, giving the Orlesians time to inspect them to their hearts' content. Not that this would be enough to quell their curiosity. After all this pomp and circumstance, she would likely have to juggle herself between hundreds of nobles wanting to have a word with them, tonight.

-And as part of the Inquisitor's retinue: The Iron Bull, leader of the famed mercenary company, Bull's Chargers… as the name might imply.- Somewhere in her mind, she felt grateful that the chargers had stayed in the Chateau. Perhaps Krem might have prevented Bull's team from cheering as they usually did whenever their company was presented, but then again, he also could have encouraged them. It could go either way with the mercenary.

-The Lady Inquisitor's elven serving man, Solas.

Before she could repress the sudden urge, her body tensed in righteous indignation.

From behind her, she heard Josephine's voice.

-Breathe Inquisitor... and let it go.- She did just that, and made a mental note to beg her friend's forgiveness for the outrageous insult.

-Renowned author Varric Tethras. Head of noble House Tethras, Deshyr of Kirkwall to the Dwarven Merchants Guild.- For some reason, she felt Varric would be more proud of the "renowned author" part than any of the other titles bestowed upon him.

-Seeker Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena...- Alright, she had _no_ idea that Cassandra had more names than even her great aunt, and that was saying something. Oh, Great Aunt Priscilla… The eldest of Grandfather Trevelyan's siblings was a piece of work!

-Get on with it!

Cullen chuckled at Cassandra's lack of patience, and Leliana softly shushed them both. Evey reminded herself that the similarities between her great aunt and Cassandra began and ended with the unending parade of names.

-...Pentaghast. Fourteenth cousin of King of Nevarra, nine times removed. Hero of Orlais, Right Hand of the Divine.- There was the obligatory pause again between announcements before, -and Her Ladyship Mai Bhalsych of Korse.

Sera's snicker reverberated in the ballroom, reaching her ears. Fortunately, Cullen's didn't, nor did Josephine's soft utterance of _"Blessed Andraste!"_. She had to admit: Sera had been quite funny, and she was willing to celebrate her friend's wit inwardly, but she knew this was not the place. The nobles would probably pay no heed to it, fearful of provoking the rage of the Inquisitor by offending her companion, if that was in fact her unfortunate name, or even losing the possibility of forging an alliance with a Ladyship unknown to them up until now. Still, Sera had played with fire with that little jest.

Once again, the fact that the entire court did not seem to notice Cole's presence did not surprise her. Admittedly, standing here and being gawked at like some exotic animal in a pen, or like a conversational piece on a mantel, made her just a tad jealous of the boy's abilities right about now.

Since the introductions had ended, the four of them walked further until the Inquisitor reached her mark next to Gaspard at the stair landing. Cullen and Josephine stayed behind whilst Leliana advanced a little bit further, positioning herself far of Gaspard's left side.

Another heavy bow towards the Empress, and then The Grand Duke began.

-Cousin. My dear Sister.

 _Clever!_ _He is not acknowledging Celene as his Empress, but he is not denying it either, leaning on their familial bond instead,_ the Inquisitor thought.

Celene, as it happened, was a bit more politically correct, perhaps precisely to detach herself from the Duke's person, and therefore his actions and ideals.

-Grand Duke. We are always honored when your presence graces our Court.- The woman had the thickest Orlesian accent Evey had ever heard (which was logical if she thought about it), and was the personification of grace. She was dressed in an impressive blue gown which was as ample as doubtless the Empress' self esteem, and had a golden sigil as large as the one in the Inquisitor's throne, resembling sun rays and framing the Empress' body perfectly. Celene's shoulders were exposed, and her neck donned a golden necklace that overall looked quite subtle in comparison with the rest of her attire. Her mask, though slightly more detailed than the one the Duchess next to her wore, was not overly extravagant, giving everyone that compared them the impression that the Empress was chiefly concerned for the equality of the people and nobles around her: a perfect move on her part.

Despite all this, Gaspard did not seem to have much patience for formalities.

-Don't waste my time with pleasantries, Celene. We have business to conclude.

The Empress did not appear fazed with the man's rudeness and answered with a perfectly polite tone.

-We will meet for the negotiations after we have seen to our other guests.- Her eyes traveled over the public for a brief moment in acknowledgment of them.

Gaspard of course had no other option but to relent at her dismissal. He bowed more deeply than ever, in what looked like the most excessively complicated and flamboyant salute Evey had seen before, and with a last " _Inquisitor_ " toward her, climbed the last flight of stairs.

-Lady Inquisitor, we welcome you to the Winter Palace. Allow us to present our cousin, the Grand Duchess of Lydes, without whom this gathering would never have been possible,- the Empress said, turning to give way for the Duchess to step forward, next to the railing.

She looked straight at the Inquisitor with a cool mixture of pleasure and calculation.

-What an unexpected pleasure. I was not aware the Inquisition would be part of our festivities.- _Meaning you don't want to be associated with your brother, or otherwise you would have known. For shame, Duchess!_

Florianne then turned and greeted her before walking to the back end of the palace.

-We will certainly speak later, Inquisitor.- For some reason, that sounded almost like a threat to Evey.

Where the Duchess had left, the Empress continued.

-Your arrival at the court is like a cool wind on a summer's day,- she fawned, faintly fanning herself to embody her words before returning her hands to their position at the front of her ribcage, just as her ladies in waiting had done before.

-I am delighted to be here, Your Imperial Majesty. Let's just hope the breeze does not herald an oncoming storm.

From behind her mask, the Empress smiled.

-Even the wisest mistake fair winds for foul. We are at the mercy of the skies, Inquisitor.- Appropriate choice of words, considering part of her attire mimicked something similar to the sun from this point of view, which coincidentally was the ruler of the skies. -We have heard much of your exploits, Inquisitor. They have made grand tales for long evenings,- she went on making small talk.- How do you find Halamshiral?

 _A viper's nest with a pinch for treachery and murder?_ No, that was hardly appropriate, and Josephine would probably kill her as a reward for her sincerity. Instead, she opted for a politer answer.

-I have no words to suffice.- That part was true, though said words were probably not the ones she was hinting. -Halamshiral has many beauties, and I couldn't do them justice.- That was _also_ partially true, the fact that she didn't mention that those beauties did not include its people was something else entirely.

-Your modesty does you credit, and speaks well for the Inquisition.- The Empress spared a look for her advisors, as if to congratulate the handlers for their dog's behavior. Or maybe she was just being paranoid and the Empress was genuinely grateful for her thoughts. Being as it may, she bowed her head in appreciativeness. -Feel free to enjoy the pleasures of the Ballroom, Inquisitor. We look forward to watching you dance.

With that, the Empress was dismissing her, so she bowed deeply and climbed the stairs, followed closely by her advisors.

Cullen and Josephine left without further comment, but Leliana stayed behind to ask for a word with her once she had a moment before retiring to a place near a wall, where she could keep an eye on any events that might trigger her curiosity.

In the distance, she could hear a young woman asking all kinds of questions to Josephine in a very enthusiastic tone.

On her way to the spymaster, Vivienne caught up with Evelyn and whispered, holding her arm.

-You haven't embarrassed yourself as much as I feared. Well done, my dear. Don't forget to speak with the council of heralds. Six of them are here tonight, the seventh member of the Council is… indisposed, but still, do try to make them _adore_ you.- And with that, she left her to Leliana, graciously navigating the ballroom in the other direction a second later.

-Good. I was hoping I would catch you. What did the Duke say?- She could always trust Leliana to get straight to the point when it counted.

-He points the finger at Ambassador Briala.

Leliana nodded, as if it wasn't a surprise to her at all. Still, her brow creased with worry.

-The ambassador is up to something, but she can't be our focus. The best place to strike at Celene is from her side,- she said while leading her to a chaise longue near a wall. -Empress Celene is fascinated by mysticism, foreseeing the future, speaking with the dead, that sort of rubbish.- Considering what _they_ had seen in their travels, and the fact that Dorian was working on mastering the arts of necromancy, Leliana's judgment of the Empress' interests seemed harsh. -She had an "occult advisor". An apostate who charmed the Empress and key members of the Court as if by magic.- Her tone implied she thought the mage had done just that. -I've had dealings with her in the past. She is ruthless and capable of anything.

-How can Celene openly keep an apostate in the Imperial Court?

-The Imperial Court has always had an official position for a mage. Before now, it was little better than court jester. Vivienne was the first to turn that appointment into a source of _real_ political power.

-Why am I not surprised?

Leliana's brow relaxed only for a second.

-Madame de Fer is a capable politician, and a master player of the Game.- Then she frowned again, and continued with her debriefing. -When the Circles rebelled, technically every mage became an apostate. The word lost much of its strength.

-That sounds like the person we're looking for.- It couldn't be that easy; somehow Evey knew it.

-She's worth investigating. Can't be sure of anything here. Both leads point toward the guest wing. It's a promising place to start. I'll coordinate with our spies to see if I can find anything better. I will be here if you need me.- She stood and was about to leave when she turned, her face completely morphing into a peaceful expression, and a slightly devilish smile graced her lips. -By the way, my Lady, you look beautiful in that dress.

-I _know_ you and the others had something to do with this, Leliana,- she answered in a tone that tried to sound annoyed, but she looked down at herself then, and again back to the Spymaster. -But I can't argue with your impeccable taste… in anything but shoes, at least.

Leliana chuckled, bowed, and left her side without another word.

On her way to the garden, she found Cullen practically hidden behind a crowd of women and men alike. They were all trying to call the Commander's attention to themselves and, judging by the panicked look on his face, Cullen was not the least bit enjoying it. In fact, his eyes betrayed such a miserable look that she found herself unable to pass near him without doing something about it.

The Commander's eyes lit up as he caught sight of her, which won Evelyn a few nasty looks from the people Cullen was avoiding on his path toward her. He, on the other hand, seemed unendingly grateful for the excuse she gave him to escape his band of stalkers.

-Inquisitor! Did you need something?- His eyes begged her to give him something to do, anything that would force him to leave his bloody spot near the wall where the nobles had pinned him.

She noticed that, despite his efforts to put distance between them and the wall, the nobles were once again surrounding him, looking to him possessively. She couldn't say she enjoyed the claim they had staked over him. Deep down, she knew no one's claim over him would be enjoyable, but this one was almost outrageously unacceptable. Before answering him, she fought the urge to make her own such claims over him, even if they would be fake ones, just to ruin any possibility of someone actually stealing him away from the Inquisition. Of course, she told herself reflexively that it was only because the man was far too great an asset to their organization to let him go, but even _she_ knew better than to believe herself.

-You've attracted a following. Who are all these people?- she asked, almost amused at the wary look he shot over his shoulders once he realized that not even she would allow him to escape this.

-I don't know, but they won't leave me alone!- He almost grunted. Poor Cullen! He was anything _but_ a player of the Game, and even with training, she doubted he could ever be something akin to one. He was too honest to lie as they did, and too shy to even pretend to be at ease with this sort of display.

-Not enjoying the attention, then?- she teased. Even though she felt for his situation, she had to admit Cullen's disdain for the nobles was somewhat amusing.

-At this point the headache I'm developing is preferable to the company.- He was really quite annoyed, and she almost felt sorry for her teasing just then. Cullen was truly having a terrible time.

An idea came to her mind alongside a smile. If she could not hint the Commander was taken, perhaps she could do something to make them understand he was not available either. She only needed to favor him with her first dance, and leave the rest to speculation. Josephine would not like it, but she was beyond caring at this point.

-I don't suppose you'd save a dance for me?- she asked. She knew if she phrased it as an order he would not hesitate, but that hardly served her plan. He needed to accept her offer, not follow an order.

What she didn't expect was what came next.

-No, thank you.

She blinked in shock. Not so much for the negativity, but for the harshness of his tone. He had dismissed her immediately, not even considering it for a second, as if she had asked something completely out of place.

Despite her best efforts, she could not hide her disappointment when she replied, nor the complete humiliation she felt when the only answer she could utter after the blow he had delivered was a pathetic " _Oh_ ". Of all the things she might have said, _that_ was the only thing her trembling throat dared to vocalize.

After that single syllable, Cullen seemed to realize what he had just said, and transformed from the severe and aggravated man these people had turned him into, to the gentle and kind man she knew.

-No! I didn't mean to...- He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and watching her with heaviness in his eyes. -Maker's Breath! I've answered that question so many times, I'm rejecting it automatically!- He took her hand, and several indignant gasps were perfectly audible from behind him. As if that had made him notice what he had done, he released her.- I'm not one for dancing, my Lady. The templars never attended balls. I would only embarrass you.

She smiled. Her plan had crashed, but his sweetness undid her, erasing almost any sting that his rejection had caused. _Almost_ , and since she was not able to do what she had intended, she decided she would take another road toward her goal. Taking a step forward, she whispered to him,

-Perhaps I wouldn't mind, as long as it is with you…

For a second, Cullen froze in place, looking straight at her with a mix of terror and something else she couldn't quite grasp, but struck her as something similar to what she felt in the midst of battle, when the adrenaline coursed through her veins and made her feel more empowered than ever.

The spell was broken when Cullen jerked suddenly, immediately turning toward a man at his back and asking indignantly,

-Did you just... _grab_ my _bottom_?

The answer was almost like a purr, the tone hinting at all levels of desire.

-I am a weak man.

Giggles spread through the group, encouraging the man who had boldly pinched the Commander's backside to gloat at his ensuing humiliation.

Cullen turned once again, looking completely appalled. The moment between them had evaporated, and she reminded herself that she needed to reach the guest wing as Leliana had suggested, so she simply shook her head in empathy.

-I have to go.- She added with a whisper,- I'm sorry.

At that, she left the Commander to his fate, listening as they once again surrounded him and began peppering him with nonstop questions the second she was out of the group. Before she walked out of earshot, she at least had the pleasure of hearing him reject yet two more dance invitations, and not as sweetly as he had rejected her in the end. Not even by a long shot.

Reaching the inner gardens for lack of a better available route to the upper floor turned out to be quite easy, even counting the endless interruptions, both from guests wishing to have a few words with her and of her own volition when she stopped to hear the servants or to talk with members of the Council, as Vivienne had suggested. The latter turned out to be quite productive, since she found out there was a "package" in the guest wing's upper room, which had the servants particularly worried, as well as the fact that whomever had to make the pickup had not done so in the last hours, disappearing into the guest wing and not resurfacing since then. Whatever that meant, it involved Briala, according to the servants and the cylinder with a list of infiltrating staff that she had found between the foliage near the railing of one of the balconies.

Even though all of this was scarce information to give her an idea of what was going on, it was certainly more to go on than the explanation Blackwall had given her when she'd asked about what he had done to receive the Wings of Valor. She didn't care what the Warden thought, but " _For... valor_ " was not an illuminating answer.

-My Lady! My Lady Inquisitor!

There they were again. Without even noticing, she had walked through the inner garden gates as she pondered what she had found. And now here she was, the three ladies in waiting of the Empress openly calling to her.

-May we have a word? It is very important.

Once she nodded and reached them, another one continued.

-The Empress has sent us with a message for you!

-I'm always honored to hear from Her Majesty.- Just like that, she slipped back into her diplomatic facade.

The lady in the middle answered.

-Oh! She is the honored one, Inquisitor!

Only to be followed again by the one in her right.

-Empress Celene is eager to assist the Herald of Andraste in her holy endeavor.

As was their custom, the third one spoke after this.

-She will pledge her full support to the Inquisition as soon as the usurper Gaspard is defeated.- The quirk of taking turns when they talked was growing increasingly annoying, and without thinking twice, Evey responded with what probably might not have been the best answer, in retrospect.

-Let me guess: All she wants in return is for me to help her defeat the Duke?- The ladies in waiting, of course, did not find this insulting, or at least they did not give proof of it externally.

-Oh! This is not meant as a bargain, by any means, Inquisitor,- the first exclaimed.

-The support of the Empress is not conditional. It will be yours once the negotiations are concluded,- added the second.

-The Empress is the most skilled diplomat in Thedas. Gaspard is hopelessly out of his depth,- remarked the third.

And then the cycle began all over again. Evey repressed a sigh.

-But we have taken enough of your time.

-Please, enjoy the masquerade, Inquisitor.- In unison, they bowed and left her there to analyze their words, until two fingers snapped in front of her face unexpectedly.

-Don't stand there looking like a fool, my friend. People will talk!- She should have guessed Dorian would be there to have her back as soon as she slipped out of character.

Once she assumed a more relaxed position, he moved to stand beside her and sighed, looking over the gardens at the people gathered there.

-This is all _so_ familiar. I half expect my mother to materialize from the crowd and criticize my manners. Of course, if she were here, you'd be short of one mage after he's dragged out by his earlobe. Can you imagine the scandal?- Picturing him in that situation produced her first honest laugh of the night. -But alas, the image would not be complete with that only. After all, my mother only attended Tevinter's soirees, and even though this has the same double dealing, elegant poison, and canapés… it's lacking a few sacrificial slaves and all the blood magic to mimic the setting properly. Though the night _is_ still young.- When she didn't answer, he looked back at her before truly worrying. -You're terribly quiet, Evey dear. Have I bored you _that_ quickly?

-Hmm?- She looked at him, replaying his words in her mind, then smiled, -You know you can _never_ bore me, Dorian.- Evelyn discreetly looked around, and when she deemed they would not be heard, she lowered her voice. -But I need to reach the second floor, and I'm afraid I won't be able to do so with this many people here.

-Please tell me Iron Bull's savage nature did not influence you enough to miss the fact that the Palace comes with stairs to the upper levels.

She made a gesture as if to slap him in the arm.

-Of course I know that! But those are even more crowded.- Then, she inspected him for a minute before asking,- You think you could create a diversion so I can climb up there?

-Well, it's not as though they could wrinkle their noses beyond what they _already_ do when they see me. You'd think I smelled like cabbages!- Infected by his mood, she leaned close to him only to step back again, wrinkling her nose terribly. Dorian raised his brow and made a grimace. -Yes, yes, very funny. Now go before I change my mind.

-Thank you! And don't think for a minute that you got away with _this,_ \- she scolded, taking her skirts in hand, -without any reprisal. All of you _will_ hear me once this is over.

With that threat, which caused anything _but_ fear in her friend, she began a calm and calculated stroll to the rear of the garden, even recruiting a new agent for the Inquisition along the way.

Once she reached the trellis, she pretended to admire the stone fountain when she heard a huge ruckus at the front end, where Dorian was hysterically discussing with another noble about why the wine harvest from 2030 TE was significantly better than the one from 2024 TE, when the Fifth Blight had begun. It was shamefully overacted, but apparently the topic he picked had been the perfect choice, since most guests where either watching him over their glasses with distrust or chiming in the discussion, feigning a profound knowledge of the best Fereldan wine years.

When she reached the top, the first thing that called her attention was the bloodstain leading to a sealed door with a lock, activated with one of the pocket sized halla statues she had been collecting ever since realizing some select doors in the Palace opened with them. Inside, she found not one but _four_ dead bodies lying there like just another smattering of forgotten paintings, as well as a letter to the Empress from Gaspard, in which he was trying to convince her that Briala possessed a weapon that could threaten not only Orlais but all of Thedas, and that they needed to work together against her. Either Gaspard had been doing some cleaning, or someone was trying to frame the man for murder.

The moment she put one foot outside the room though, the bells calling the guests to the ballroom rang out.

On the upper floor, she found a secret study filled with arcane books and artifacts, and even a lit Veilfire sconce that helped her discover a hidden mechanism to a lower room. Still, the biggest secret uncovered was a letter from Celene to a "Lady M", obviously her expert in the occult, begging her to remain at her side all night because she feared the Winter Palace was not safe anymore due to "unpleasantness in the royal wing".

Overall, her inspection of the study and the library had been fruitful, and as she was drawn to a few other details that might or might not lead to more clues, the second bell rang and she left immediately, inwardly congratulating herself for ignoring the first bell and acting like any Orlesian high noble worthy of her title, arriving at the ball room fashionably late.

If someone had asked her who would escort her back to the ballroom an hour ago, she would have said Gaspard, since she was, after all, his guest to the occasion. So when the famous Witch of the Wilds and veteran of the Fifth Blight, Morrigan, stepped into her path and joined her in her walk to the ballroom, she understood immediately that her stroll in the upper levels had not gone unnoticed.

Her Majesty's Arcane Advisor wore an Orlesian dress that appeared to have been modified by herself, since anyone could see that it complimented her personality perfectly, with all the feathers, gleaming metals and the dark shades. Her attire screamed wild beauty, just as her whole demeanor did.

Exactly as Leliana had said, Morrigan was a dangerous creature, and Evey immediately resorted to her training to avoid telling her too much, whilst simultaneously keeping the possibility of counting the mage as a future ally… Even if she feared her Spymaster would not approve of such an allegiance.

To her surprise, Morrigan not only did not condemn Evey's intrusion in what was obviously her study, but praised her bravery in doing so, even shedding some light on the mystery by confessing that she was the one who had murdered the men she had encountered back in the locked room. Those were apparently Venatori agents, and upon their bodies Morrigan had found a key which sadly she could not say to where it led, though she didn't specify whether she couldn't because she didn't _want_ to say, or because she did not know. The problem was that, as the Inquisitor already knew, the Arcane Advisor was incapable of leaving Celene's side to search for the truths hidden behind whichever door the key opened.

And with that, and a last warning in parting, she left her at the opulent doors of the ballroom.

Finally alone again, Evey walked the halls, taking a turn near the table where the negotiations were still in full swing, planning to reach Cullen to debrief him about her discoveries and alert him that she would take some of her companions with her to investigate the servants quarters.

She never made it, though, for she heard a voice at her back.

-My dear Lady Trevelyan! If I didn't know you better I'd say you were a mage, because you just magicked my breath away.- Fearful of whom the owner of that voice could be, but knowing perfectly that she could not ignore him, she turned and saw her annoying suspicions confirmed.

 _I need to remind myself to punch Hawke in the face for letting him live._

-Emile de Launcet,- she said with her best "go away" look, discreetly retreating to put some distance between them… a distance that Emile seemed overly eager to close. Of course the man was as idiotic as he was revolting, and interpreted her look as one of interest instead.

-My beautiful bride! When I heard you were on your way here, I came to allow you the opportunity to get acquainted with my "stout Launcet",- he said, wiggling his brows insinuatingly. Evey took one more step back and found herself against a wall, effectively trapping her between a side table, a chaise longue, and Emile, both of them almost completely hidden in the shadows of the corner.

-Oh, by the love of...- She rebuffed, a gesture she would have never dared do normally this evening, but that man brought out the worst in her. It wasn't his unattractiveness, nor the fact that he was Orlesian; she wouldn't care about all of that if he had _anything_ worth admiring. Sadly, the man was a parade of hateful features: arrogant, deceitful, self centered, and insufferably stupid. -Emile, please step aside. I don't have time for this.

The man did nothing of the sort, instead pushing further.

-Don't be that way, my kitten. You have already proven your purity. You played "hard to get" as any Lady would. Now let your desires rule you!

He was actually leaning in to _kiss_ her, and she was prepared to punch him to a bloody pulp if he didn't snap back to reality soon. Sickeningly, Evelyn was almost certain that Emile was stealing lines from a particularly terrible and smutty book that Dorian had once teased Cassandra with. A pitiful publication that tried to compete with Varric's, and failed miserably, for not even the Seeker enjoyed it, but that had not stopped their Tevinter friend from mocking her with it.

Emile took her silence as an invitation and stepped closer, drawing a line on her skin with the tip of his finger in a light path over her shoulder, clearly with every intention of reaching her cleavage, and _that_ was where Evelyn drew her own line. She grabbed his hand with all the strength she was capable of delivering, crushing his fingers to accentuate her point.

-For the _millionth_ time, Emile, I am _not_ your bride, your kitten, your lustful beauty, or whatever other pitiful endearments you might come up with. More so, I will _never_ be any of those to you, and I swear if you keep telling people otherwise, you'll force me to do something that by now I'm very much eager to do, but that you won't like.

Of course, she should have used smaller words, since the simpleton only heard the last part and, pulling a revoltingly lustful look, replied:

-And what is that, my naughty Herald?- And then, to her complete surprise, the man actually dared to slip his arms around her waist and pull her directly to him, rubbing his hips against her provocatively.

At this point, Evey was torn between answering to the burning need to vomit and killing the man with her bare hands. She was certainly trying very hard not to do either, staring at the man with murderous eyes.

Sadly, before she could incline her decision toward the killing option first and worry about the vomiting part afterward, a masked figure loomed at Emile's back, forcing the man to put a small distance between them when he stood straight again, instead of leaning against her.

-If you had half the brains of a nug, you would understand that the Lady is politely trying to save your life by giving you a chance to retreat before she coats the floor with your innards.- Emile jumped in place, and when she lowered her gaze, Evey could see something glimmering as it pressed in his side. -Unfortunately for you, I'm _not_ that patient.- He leaned over Emile's shoulder and surrounded him with his arms, like hugging a dear friend, while actually seizing the gesture to turn and face him toward the hall. -Now, be a good lamb and get out of here before I slice you, or worse, leave you at the mercy of the Herald.

Emile left unsteadily, walking through the hall with a lost look, his face completely devoid of all color and trembling slightly. In his haste to leave the ballroom, he crashed into the dowager, pushing her against the table and winning a full minute's rant from the woman.

Evey sighed, and studied the man in front of her.

-Thank you for that, your Highness,- she uttered to the Grand Duke, whom calmly sheathed his dagger. Gaspard merely bowed before her, kissed her hand, and walked back to the table, continuing with the peace talks.

Evey was mortified. She was hardly a damsel in distress, and the last thing she needed was to be the reason behind Gaspard left the Empress waiting. There were already too many rumors about her involvement with the Grand Duke to add more to the pile. But when Emile had trapped her against the wall, the only solution she could come up with through her rage was to punch the man until he saw reason, and she knew that would only negatively affect her carefully cultivated image in the palace. Still, Gaspard's intervention was hardly beneficial, and the proof of that were the veiled glances she was already receiving from those around her. Due to the shadows Emile had pushed her into, they probably had not seen all of it, but the fact that a man intercepted her, and another one intervened, managing to scare the other one away, was more than enough.

Sighing and hating this ball more and more, she began to walk toward the hall where she'd last seen Cullen, only to catch sight of the Commander standing a few feet away from the groupies he had attracted since the night had begun, of whom were still trying to call his attention in that very moment while he was evidently worrying over something else.

Seeing this, Evey stepped closer to him and raised her voice.

-Commander, a word in private, if you please?

Cullen's relief was evident and once again she smiled, thinking about how out of his element he was in this setting. He nodded at her words and carefully led her to the nearest balcony, purposely leaving his entourage behind and watching over his shoulder menacingly to stop them from following.

When they were alone, she was about to speak when he leaned on the railing and sighed heavily, one hand rubbing from his head all the way to the nape of his neck.

-Maker's Breath! I needed this!- He looked up at her and smiled faintly. -Thank you. Even if you called me to go fight Corypheus hand to hand, you did me a favor.- She chuckled, and once he noticed her more relaxed, he ventured, -Is everything alright? Can I help you with anything?

And left it there. He would not dare admit what he had seen de Launcet try to do to her, but had been unable to break free of the admirers around him in time to take Gaspard's place as her savior. Cullen was not completely sure what bothered him more: seeing someone like Emile stalking her, or being forced to stand by and watch in frustration as someone else got rid of that problem for her and subsequently kissed her hand in farewell.

-Not entirely, but I thought you should know what I found out.

She explained everything to him. From the servants' whispers, going through the dead men in the locked room, up until Morrigan's contribution to their investigation and their unspoken alliance. Everything _but_ the incident with Emile de Launcet. It was not a big deal; she was entitled to not tell him, but for some reason it hurt him. Not so much because of the fact that she hid it from him. After all, it was an unimportant event in light of their mission, but for the reason behind it.

Why not share with him the complete story and fill in the details he had not caught from a distance? Why not admit she had been saved by someone else instead of by her own strength and capabilities? Was it because Gaspard's gesture had felt like more than just an ally doing her a favor? Had the Grand Duke enchanted her with letters during the weeks leading up to the ball, after they had first received his invitation? Or was it his natural charisma? The Commander didn't know the answer, and his speculations had done nothing to calm his nerves during those twenty minutes until he'd seen her reappear through the crowd, not even a single hair out of place. Still, a heaviness loomed over her that was evident to anyone that knew her better than all these faceless people surrounding them.

Nevertheless, finding out what ailed her was going to be difficult, for none other than the Inquisitor had sent a guard named Phillip over to inquire all about the battle in the Western Approach. He knew she had probably found good reason to do that. Most likely, she had needed the guard away from his post, but that did not mean he cared to entertain the man with his field stories, nor did he like the fact that with this, she had incapacitated him to do anything but indulge the guard.

The bells had announced the second call when Evey entered the ballroom. The scenery in the servants quarters had been a disaster. The dagger in the dead body of an emissary from the Council of Heralds with du Chalons' family crest pointing to Gaspard. The convenient timing of Briala's intervention, claiming she had come there to save or avenge her people. Evey knew for a fact that the servants had been worrying about their missing companions for hours, and yet the ambassador chose that precise moment to go down there and look for them, leading to the elf casually bringing up the dead emissary and the Tevinter agents in conversation, followed by the tempting offer of an army of elven spies at her disposal, should she consider things carefully (meaning should she ally herself with Briala). It all seemed too staged to be completely coincidental. Something sinister was brewing in the Imperial Palace, and she was determined to find out what it was before the night was over.

She just needed to find the perfect excuse to get into the royal wing, where the rest of the servants' rumors led her, and that was it.

But Grand Duchess Florianne apparently had other plans for her time. She had just entered the ballroom when the woman approached.

-Inquisitor Trevelyan? We met briefly. I am Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons. Welcome to my party.

oOo

From a short distance, Dorian was contemplating Evey and Florianne's every move, knowing perfectly well where the Grand Duchess was trying to lead the Inquisitor. From the very first moment the Duchess had laid eyes on the Inquisitor, he knew this was going to happen, and when both women approached the dance floor, he didn't waste time explaining to Leliana what his intentions were before dragging her out for a dance as well. The Spymaster didn't mind of course; little slipped her attention, and this one was not one of those.

Carefully, they glided on the dance floor until they were close enough to the other couple to hear what the Inquisitor was not trying to hide in the least, probably already having spotted them nearby.

When they got close enough to them, Evelyn was telling the Duchess that no matter where were you from, business in the Empire was common knowledge, effectively showing Florianne that she was not playing the Game with someone who was unfamiliar with the rules. Unfortunately, dancing without exchanging at least a couple of pleasantries was not the Orlesian way, even when said pleasantries could be closer to insults than amicable conversation, so without further ado, he said the first thing that came to his mind almost in unison with the Duchess' declaration of her worries about the security of the Empire.

-Are those shoes, or did you stuff your feet into a pair of bird nests?- He bowed to the Spymaster, one arm at his back and in the air, the other close to his chest, right foot behind the left, knees slightly bent.

Leliana matched his grace and, completely unimpressed, answered as the Inquisitor questioned Florianne's desires for the Empire to prevail and not fall, secretly proud of how well Evelyn was dodging the Grand Duchess' traps.

-This coming from a man who wears more eyeliner than me,- she said as he made her spin and stepped behind her, holding her waist in step with what the Inquisitor was doing with Florianne a few steps ahead of them.

-Which reminds me: I need to pick up another pencil before we go back.

Evelyn in turn was swimming far more dangerous waters than Dorian admitting his fascination for cosmetics, considering that at that very moment the Inquisitor was asking Florianne if she found it hard to tell friend from foe in these difficult times.

-Madame L'Hourves sells everything I wear,- Leliana answered politely as they took a few steps forward.

-Ah, she comes recommended! I'll have to stop by,- he smiled, turning Leliana once more so she would face him. At that precise time, Florianne admitted to knowing that the Inquisitor had been everywhere in the Palace, and for a second, Dorian feared for his dearest friend's safety.

-Tell her I sent you and she'll give you a thirty percent discount,- Leliana kept the conversation going. In the meantime, the Duchess was calling the Inquisitor both a curiosity to some and a matter of concern to others. The couple did not have to speak to agree on hastening their pace to get close to Florianne and Evelyn, just in time to hear the Inquisitor replying as only a flawless player of the Game would, asking which variation she was to the Duchess. At hearing this, Leliana and Dorian smiled, marveling in Evey's ability.

-Oh, deary me, _forget_ what I said about your shoes,- Dorian replied to Leliana's suggestion of dropping her name to receive a discount whilst listening to Florianne inquire about Evey's notion of who was friend and who foe in the Winter Palace. -I take it all back. They're fabulous.- The Inquisitor did not disappoint, once again cunningly avoiding a direct answer by throwing back the same question at the Grand Duchess. Their friends heard it all perfectly, thanks to the dance that had left Florianne and Evelyn spining on the same spot while as rest of the guests glided around them over the entire ballroom.

-I'll not tell you where I got them.- The next steps of the dance took them away from the Inquisitor, so Evey's quip about dangerous machinations being the national sport in Orlais was the last thing they could clearly hear. Even though they hadn't caught what had prompted that answer, they knew it had been perfect just by the look in Florianne's eyes when they caught sight of her in the last spin before the couple moved away.

- _Bloody_ … Fine!- With this, and a particularly devilish smile from Leliana (both from knowing she had left Dorian wishing he knew where she had acquired the same shoes he had just criticized, and from realizing the Inquisitor had turned out to be an impeccable and ruthless player), they finished their dance before the highest ranking nobles as custom dictated, leaving the audience to be amazed as they voiced their awe with applause when Evey dipped Florianne low in a graceful move. The pair walked a few more steps together and bowed to finish their dance.

After just a handful of seconds, the music began again and it was Dorian and Evey's turn to astonish the audience with their combined grace and perfect timing, leaving the other half of the guests who were not yet completely enthralled with the Inquisitor swooning at her exquisite finesse.

When the first gasps reached them, Dorian laughed and whispered in the ear,

-That's all it takes to impress them? Oh, they have no _idea_. Find me ten silk scarves and I'll perform a dance that will _really_ shock them.

The mental image he conjured for her made Evey laugh for at least a full minute, completely surrendering herself to her friend's skill on the dance floor. After a few turns and steps, Dorian was staring at her like a man in love, knowing perfectly well his friend would not be able to quell her curiosity for his reasoning for too long.

-Whatever you're thinking, this is as good a time as any, Dorian,- she said while smiling with the same love he was directing at her.

-Each and every day, you amaze me more and more, my dear Evey. And I'm not the only one.- He spun her and laid his hands over her waist while positioning her at his side, hip to hip. -The whole court is completely in love with you, so you can add them to your list of admirers… along with a choice few stalkers as well, most likely.

He winked and turned her once more, but instead of going back to the traditional dance as the other couples did, he held her by the waist and raised her high in the air, spining in time as they had done when they'd practiced at Skyhold. The gasps and claps that this display arose did not disappoint him.

- _Speaking_ of which...

-Stalkers?- She asked, surreptitiously watching over her shoulder, fearful that Emile was trying to cut in to claim a dance.

- _Admirers_ , actually… though we _will_ talk about Emile eventually.

-How did you...?

-Hush, my darling, I'm talking and we _both_ know you love my voice,- he joked as he dipped her, seizing the moment to whisper in her ear. -First floor, next to the second column.

When he leaned her up, she glanced in that direction and spotted Cullen standing just behind the railing, amber eyes fixed on their dance, and on her specifically, as if there was no one else on the floor. Immediately, she blushed madly and Dorian chuckled, dropping his head back and opening his mouth as if she had just told him the best joke in all the Empire.

-I hate you,- she muttered, completely unable to stop the color in her cheeks, which was quickly spreading over her neck and down her chest.

Dorian finished the dance with a kiss on the tip of her nose, much to the scandal and surprise of many a guest, some for his boldness when they caught what he had done, and others for believing he had kissed her on the cheek without asking.

Her friend accentuated the gesture by whispering,

-And _I_ love you,- only to bow a moment later in perfect timing with the orchestra's ending of the piece.

When they made their way upstairs, both of them politely declining more invitations to dance, Josephine, who had apparently managed to escape her eager sister, was already waiting for her. Dorian took his leave and disappeared into the crowd.

-You'll be the talk of the court for months. We should take you dancing more often.- Inside, the ambassador was practically giggling. The obligatory dance with the organizer of the ball was the part of tonight's events that she had been fearing since they had received the invitation to the ball, but according to Leliana and the show with which the Inquisitor had graced the attendees, she needn't have bothered.

By that time, Evey was in good spirits, despite Dorian's efforts to embarrass her. But since much of that she also owned to him, she let the humiliation slip past her and answered in the same lightheartedness.

-I'd happily do more dancing… Just not with Corypheus.

Josephine laughed softly and promised not to invite the Elder One to their next ball.

-You have to tell me everything about that dance with Florianne,- Leliana said as she approached with Cullen at her side, whom intervened before Evey could ask after the need of telling her about the Duchess when she was sure Dorian and her Spymaster had heard everything while they were dancing at their side.

-More importantly, what happened in the servants' quarters? I heard there was fighting.

She couldn't even think about his logical question, as she would have easily done in other circumstances, and it was all Dorian's fault. If he had not pointed out that Cullen was watching them dance, and accused the Commander of being her admirer, she would have had an easier time focusing on the task at hand instead of his deep voice, or on how handsome he looked in his Inquisition uniform.

Luckily Josephine came to her aid, distracting her from other more dangerous thoughts and diverting her eyes from Cullen's muscles, which were perfectly noticeable under the perfectly tailored fabric of his uniform.

-I hope you have good news. It appears the peace talks are crumbling.

That was when she realized that, with all that had happened, she had not been able to tell anyone but Cullen about her first discoveries, and he had been practically trapped for most of the evening, so it was probably fair to assume that he had not been able to pass the word on to others. Even if he could have done so, she still hadn't told any of them about what had transpired after she'd received the mystery key.

-Morrigan helped me get into the servants' quarters, where I found a group of Venatori. And Gaspard's dagger.

-The man would truly do _anything_ to become Emperor,- came Leliana's answer.

Cullen on the other hand reserved his opinions, and went straight to the point.

-Then… the attack on the Empress _will_ happen tonight.

-Warning Celene is pointless. She needs these talks to succeed, and to flee would admit defeat,- Josephine explained.

The following suggestion Leliana made as a solution for that left Evey completely astonished.

-Then perhaps we should let her die.- The Game had taught her to hide her emotions well, and she knew Leliana would not have suggested that if she didn't have a plan.

-You have an idea, Leliana?- she asked in turn.

-What Corypheus wants is chaos. Even with Celene alive, that could still happen. To foil his plan, the Empire must remain strong. This evening, _someone_ must emerge victorious.- Once again, Evey was in awe of Leliana's ability to talk of treason and murder as if she was discussing which nobles had favored the cheese platter over the ham hors d'oeuvres.

-And it doesn't need to be Celene. She's right.- At Cullen's input, the Inquisitor made a mental note to take him as far from Orlais as humanly possible, since the poisonous atmosphere seemed to be a bad influence on the Commander's sensitivity. Still, she could understand their logic, and deep down she knew they were not simply being heartless, but practical with their idea.

You could always trust Josephine to be an idealist, though.

-Do you _realize_ what you're suggesting, Leliana?- The ambassador didn't even mention Cullen's support of their spymaster's plan, and directly accused the bard.

Leliana did not retreat and replied calmly,

-Sometimes the best path is not the easiest one.

A headache was burying its devious claws into Evey's temples.

-You're asking _me_ to decide what's best for Orlais,- she scoffed, lowering her voice so only her advisors could hear such a scandalous declaration.

-More than that. Whoever controls the Imperial throne will affect _all_ of Thedas,- Cullen ominously replied.

 _Oh well, now I'm less worried._

Leliana nodded at the Commander's words and added her own.

-You cannot stop Corypheus without a decision. You must support someone, or all is lost.

And then her three advisors each offered a different path, leaving the decision to her and only her, and making it even harder to decide.

-Then we should support Celene. She _is_ the rightful ruler. Why would we say otherwise?- was Josephine's suggestion, which completely clashed with Cullen's.

-Because she led Orlais to this point. I say Gaspard, provided his sister is wrong about him.

And Leliana did not help at all, choosing the third option herself.

-I would suggest Briala. She could bring true peace, not _only_ to the Empire, but also to its elves.

Honestly, why did she need enemies with advisors like these?

-This is, however, your decision, Inquisitor. Not ours,- Josephine clarified, ever the diplomat.

Overwhelmed was too hollow a word to describe how she felt with the kind of weighty decision they were dropping into her hands. Yet she refused to decide without enough evidence. What if she chose Gaspard and it turned out Florianne was right? What if she leaned toward Briala and then discovered she was the one behind the murders of her own People? What if she left Celene on the throne, only to find out later that she had staged all of this in the hopes of reaffirming her throne and taking care of her enemies in the process?

-I can't decide this. Not yet.- It was official: her good mood had sprouted wings and flown off at the first hint of deciding the future of Orlais all by herself.

-You must. Even inaction is a decision, Inquisitor,- Leliana warned.

-You could speak to Celene in the ballroom, but she won't act. Not without proof,- was Josephine's advice.

-If Gaspard is guilty, he'll admit nothing. If he's innocent, he knows nothing. We need the truth,- Cullen implored.

Leliana looked at Evelyn then and sighed heavily, fully aware of the burden they were passing onto her.

-What did Duchess Florianne tell you?- she asked.

Evey's diminished enthusiasm was clear in the weary tone of her answer.

-She said Gaspard's mercenary captain is in the Royal Wing. That he knows about the assassination.

-Which could be a trap,- Cullen hastened to say, his brow creased, clearly worried.

-Or a lead,- Josephine tried to inject hope. -Either way, you should search the private quarters in that wing for clues.

Evey knew she was right, but her strength was wearing thin, chiefly from the mental exhaustion to which this convoluted plot was exposing her. Sighing once more, she braced herself for whatever the Royal Wing had in store for her.

-Then get me access. And in the meantime, get your soldiers into position.

 **oOo**

 **So, what do you think? First "I love you" in the story and it is said by the wrong man..., well, if you can ever consider Dorian as "wrong" ;)**

 **Did you really thought I would spoil a mayor plot point? I would never do that to any of you, I was just teasing you all. But, the day will come, fear not ;)**


	32. Chapter 32

**Short note here: the end is slightly non canon but I just couldn't help myself**

 **oOo**

Chapter 32: The Lesser of Three Evils, and the Wonder of His Eyes

She knew from the get go that Halamshiral would be a nest of deceit, treachery, and backstabbing, but deep down she'd assumed to find at least one apple that was not poisoned between the barrel of deadly players. But no, not even one among them could be conservatively called "the least innocent". Not the Grand Duke, not his sister, not the Empress, nor her jilted lover. And now, by association, Evelyn was not sure whether even she was still free of guilt in that respect.

The Royal Wing had been an eye opener. Not that she had been strutting around completely unaware of the territory she was getting herself into, but the extent of the depravation in these people reached depths that both impressed and frightened her. It wasn't so much what they had proved already. It wasn't Gaspard's threats to the High Council or the man he had infiltrated, ready to attack, nor the fact that Celene was fully aware of his little army and allowed them to enter the Palace in hopes that he would make a politically foolish move, without regard toward her own people or any luckless individual who might become collateral damage. It wasn't even Briala's brilliant move to kill both their ambassadors and send them each forged letters to get the cousins to fight one another, thereby losing track of the elf while she snuck in as Head of the Empire, her hands apparently clean. Not even the revelation that both women conspired against each other when they, by all outward appearances, had loved each other made her cringe.

No, truly it was the extent of their boldness, what they were willing to do to gain power, and all the potential schemes and plots they had devised for seemingly every second of the past, and even now. They all played the Game, they all conspired, and they all lied, even Evelyn. But some things were not for sale, at least for her, and it baffled her to realize that these people were ready to destroy all in their paths in the hopes of accomplishing their goals, be they compatriots, allies, followers, friends, family, or lovers. Nothing was sacred, nothing was too dear to risk, nothing too expensive to sacrifice.

And to top it all off, in the midst of them loomed a greater threat than any of them could hope to rival, one who had far fewer boundaries and made the three look as innocent as doe eyed halla: Grand Duchess Florianne. The same conniving backstabber who held a grotesquely high opinion of herself, considering she was just a gullible puppet to the true mastermind of all this.

Corypheus.

Florianne was probably the one among them who honestly struck the Inquisitor as the least trustworthy of all, even though she was aware what little trust she could place in these people from the start. She seemed by far the worst of the four, and did not quite desire to completely conceal that she was into something sinister. Even from their first introductions, when the duchess had claimed she had no idea the Inquisition would grace the Court with their presence, Florianne had looked at her with something akin to eagerness, completely negating what was coming out of her mouth, as if she could not wait to crash headlong into the inevitable end this night would have. Again the feeling had returned when they'd danced, along with the niggling sensation that Florianne was practically praying the Inquisitor would find out what she had done. Even when she tried to point a suspicious finger in Gaspard's direction, she appeared delighted at the idea of the Inquisition getting personally involved.

And then, after finding frightened servants lured into a trap from Briala, deceived lustful soldiers tied to the Empress' bed without receiving their promised carnal reward for betraying their superior, the confirmation that Gaspard was indeed planning to attack not only with his men supporting him but also Fereldan mercenaries in his ranks, and the fact that the captain of those mercenaries had been duped into coming to the yard only to be trapped and left behind, everything lost importance in light of a much more dire revelation: Florianne was stupid enough to believe that Corypheus would give her total control over Thedas to rule in his name... Sometimes ambitions clouded the mind, apparently.

The ensuing battle had proved difficult. In addition to the typical minions they usually fought whenever someone confidently believed him or herself prevailing enough to destroy them with merely their lackeys, they faced a considerable amount of demons, pouring into the fight through a rift in the middle of the yard. By the end of it, all of them were completely drained and covered in blood. By some miracle, though, her hair had been spared of the bloodbath, and she would only need to change back into her dress and get back to the ballroom without garnering much attention. Inwardly she thanked Leliana's agents for sneaking her armor inside the Royal Wing once she let the Spymaster know of her suspicions. Even in the middle of the fight, Evey could not help but smile at the irony, for it had been Florianne's suggestion that she should seek out Gaspard's mercenary captain and persuade him to be forthcoming about the Grand Duke's plans which had ultimately triggered the alarm in her mind. The Duchess had been adamant in her request, almost begging her to explore it, unknowingly revealing her trap, or at the very least making her doubt her true motivations. Leliana had caught her uneasiness, and that had probably prompted the Spymaster to send their gear discreetly to the Royal Wing.

And what a miracle that had been. The fight in the yard had followed yet more skirmishes with Florianne's personal army scattered all over that wing, which in normal circumstances would not have been a major inconvenience, but after the battle in the yard ended up being quite trying for all of them. By the time they'd reached the main door and recovered their discarded finery, they had to use all the tricks in the book to make themselves presentable again, and lose as little time as possible in doing so, to get back to the ballroom and stop Florianne before she carried out the act.

When she walked into the ballroom, Evelyn watched Gaspard and his poisonous sister enter the scene as well from a door behind the railing on the opposite side of the dance floor. They stopped as they recognized her, the Grand Duke nodding his regards while Florianne desperately tried to hold back her fury. She could almost hear her pearly whites grinding from where she stood at the other side of the room, and Evey didn't repress her devious smile when Gaspard turned his attention away and his sister was still staring at her. The Grand Duchess seemed completely mesmerized by the fact that she had survived and did not avert her eyes from the Inquisitor, probably trying to strike her down with the might of her evil eye.

-Thank the Maker you're back! The Empr...- Cullen stopped the moment he drew closer to her. He caught one lock of hair that was free of her formerly neat braid and took in the fact that she looked absolutely worn out, if one cared to look deeply enough into her eyes. -What happened? are you alright?- The Commander was honestly worried; she could tell by the way he was looking at her and the choked tone of his voice when he assessed her state.

Alas, this was not a good moment for long explanations, so she merely shook her head and attempted to smile.

-I'm alright. We all are. I'll explain later; what were you saying?

-Right, yes.- Cullen swallowed his concern and with a great deal of effort on his part, leaving his questions and worries for another time. -The Empress will begin her speech soon. What should we do?- He still looked worried, and she was not certain whether it was solely for the outcome of this ball.

-Just wait here, Cullen. I'm going to have a word with the Grand Duchess.

The hate in her words did not escape his notice. Something had happened and it had not been good. He looked down and saw her hand twitching, just as her companions had told him she did whenever the anchor had been troubling her or had been activated recently. Still, something in her eyes stopped him from asking after her welfare. Evelyn would not answer; she was not even looking at him, her eyes fixed on someone behind him.

He needed to get her attention again, unable to let her do whatever she was thinking without warning him first. He could tell she was going to put herself in danger and he simply couldn't allow her to do that.

-What? There's no time! The Empress will begin her speech any moment!- It was the only thing he could come up with, knowing perfectly well that if he voiced his true worries, she would not heed his advice and would risk her safety no matter what. Perhaps this avenue would work instead.

It didn't.

Without any other word, Evey passed by him and began to descend the stairs to the dance floor, walking straight up to Florianne, who was now standing on the opposite stairs' landing, talking with her brother and Briala in plain sight of the Empress, who watched her subjects from her balcony.

-We owe the Court one more show, Your Highness.

Evey's words reverberated throughout the ballroom, eliciting a resounding gasp at the boldness of the Inquisitor to address her so casually. At her calling, both Gaspard and Florianne turned when they heard the honorific corresponding to their titles, but when the Grand Duke saw that the Inquisitor's eyes were fixed on his sister, and how she in kind was glowering back at Evelyn, he retreated a handful of steps, followed closely by Briala.

-Inquisitor,- said Florianne with the same regal tone she had been using to her advantage all night. The one that bordered on kindness but held a distinct disdain in its depths.

-The eyes of every noble in the Empire are upon us, Your Highness. Remember to smile.- And she did exactly that, as if to put forth an example. -This is your party. You wouldn't want them to think you had lost control,- she continued as she walked up the stairs, watching with increased amusement at how the Duchess retreated slightly at the same time.

-Who would not be delighted to speak with you, Inquisitor?- Just when she thought no one could get her out of her wits as much as Emile du Launcet, the Grand Duchess was now a clear contender for that gold medal.

Oh, whatever. To the Void with discretion.

-I seem to recall you saying, "All I needed was to keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike."- She clasped her hands behind her back in a subconscious reflection of Solas when he explained something calmly to her, and began pacing around Florianne. -When your archers failed to kill me in the garden,- another general gasp raised from their audience, whom were now clinging to her every word, -I feared you wouldn't save me this last dance.- She walked behind the woman while looking at her over her shoulder. Meanwhile the Duchess could do nothing but fidget in place, completely nervous. -It's so easy to lose your good graces. You even framed your brother for the murder of a Council Emissary.- From the corner of her eye, she watched as Gaspard moved forward until he was in the Grand Duchess' sight, only to shake his head disappointedly when she noticed him. The people in the ballroom replaced their previous gasps with scandalized murmurings.

By then, she had completed a full circle around Florianne and was again standing before her.

-It was an ambitious plan. Celene, Gaspard, the entire Council of Heralds...- She briefly considered tacking on her own name to the list, but people would probably reach the wrong conclusion with the addition, thinking that Gaspard was somehow involved in the plot, since he had been the one who invited the Inquisition to the Winter Ball. -All your enemies under one roof.- To emphasize her words, she pointed accusingly at Florianne, daring her to deny it, which the Grand Duchess actually did, without delay.

-This is _very_ entertaining, but you do not imagine anyone _believes_ your wild stories?- By the sound of the nobles' whispers and not so subtle mumbles regarding treason since she had declared Florianne a conspirator, a growing number of those present were quick to believe her, and she hadn't even mentioned Corypheus yet. Even without any of that, hearing Florianne stumble through her words and watching as she was still absentmindedly retreating as if ready to flee were practically all that was necessary to condemn her... The high-born Orlesians in the ballroom had certainly done so already.

Surprisingly, it was Celene whom answered the Grand Duchess question.

-That will be a matter for a judge to decide, cousin.

Hearing this, Florianne began to panic and resorted to the only one she thought would never turn his back on her.

-Gaspard? You cannot believe this! You know I would never...- She begged as she walked toward him, trying to reach for his hand and appeal to the same fraternal love that she had perverted. But the Grand Duke did just what she'd thought impossible and, shaking his head, he retreated a couple of steps before turning and mounting the stairs without uttering a single word.

Deep down, Evey felt horribly for the Grand Duke. She could never believe Maxwell or Caleb would ever do something like this to her, but the stark fact that Gaspard required no further evidence to be convinced of her betrayal was enough condemnation on its own. What was impossible to Evelyn Trevelyan, was more than plausible to Gaspard du Chalons, proving that not even Florianne's own blood thought her innocent of such atrocities. Poor Gaspard… Evelyn couldn't imagine what it might be like to be unable to trust even a close sibling.

A pair of Palace guards stopped Florianne from following after her brother, and the Grand Duchess was completely alone, still calling after him while the Inquisitor stood behind her on the landing.

-Gaspard…?- Backing away from the stairs as if her brother's rejection had left her utterly adrift, she nearly bumped into Evey, the guards walking toward them. Seeing this, the Duchess defensively raised her arms, trying to stop the two men from reaching her as she looked to her left for an exit, only to find the Inquisitor glaring at her harshly.

-You lost this fight ages ago, Your Highness. You're just the last one to find out.- By then, the Duchess had fallen to her knees on the marble floor, thoroughly defeated. Another guard marched down the stairs and, standing next to her, roughly took her by the arm as the Grand Duchess sobbed inconsolably.

Once Florianne was taken into custody, Evey turned her eyes to the Empress, who was still observing the scene from the upper railing as if she was watching another dance.

-Your Imperial Majesty, I think we should speak in private. -She moved to the stairs leading to the Empress, Gaspard, and Briala, and to make her intentions known, she added, -Elsewhere.

oOo

To Cullen's surprise Florianne's detention was left entirely in his hands immediately after the Palace guards had removed her from the ballroom. In fact, it had been one of those same men who rounded back, tapped him on the shoulder, and demanded that he "finish what the Inquisitor started". Contrary to the harshness in their tone, the guards did not seem affected by Florianne's coup, at least not beyond their wounded pride. After all, the Grand Duchess had arranged all of this right under their noses, and that did not put them in a good light. So when the time came to fob her off on someone, the Inquisition seemed the best candidate. Considering how much Evey was currently dealing with, Cullen decided to let it pass and simply did what was asked of him, no matter how rudely they had asked.

Normally he wouldn't mind dealing with a prisoner and a traitor to boot, but Florianne's title (still intact, to Cullen's amazement) had made the situation a living hell. Apparently her illustrious position required that she be treated accordingly, no matter how she deserved to be treated like anything _but_ a noble lady. Yet common sense dictated that she could not be locked in a normal room with too many items she could use either as a weapon to attack someone else, or to do harm to herself and thereby escape the Empire's justice, or worse, Corypheus' rage.

Finally, after a long hour, they settled on one of the rooms they had previously assigned to Sera and Solas, minus most of the furniture, leaving only a mattress on the floor, a metal wash basin (porcelain could be shattered and used as a weapon), and cloth. They beefed up security with more magical glyphs and guards than those they had put around Evelyn when she was still a suspect for the murder of the Divine at the destroyed Temple of Sacred Ashes. The nobles would surely complain, along with the Empress, and there was even a possibility that Gaspard himself might put forth an objection in the name of House du Chalons, but at this point Cullen did not care one bit. Josephine would have to deal with them; he had done his job and everything that was standard procedure to deal with this class of prisoner, and being that their very own Inquisitor had suffered from worse conditions not that long ago, they had the perfect excuse to shut down any complaint about it. Not that he was willing to be the one to explain it to them, of course.

By the time he made his way back to the ballroom, everything had returned to normal, or at least what Orlesians considered normal. The dances had resumed, the polite talks and scandalous whispers were already in their peak, and, according to what his men had informed him of in his absence, the Empress had already declared the festivities resume and Gaspard had been announced as now holding a position of honor in the Imperial cabinet henceforth.

They also told him what Celene had _not_ said: Briala would also play a part of the new government, albeit from the shadows. At first this news struck him as nigh on impossible. There was no way three people whom a mere hour ago considered themselves enemies, and had such different opinions on how to rule for the good of the Empire and its people, could have agreed to work together in peace. And then it hit him: No doubt this happy conclusion was all Evey's doing. How she had accomplished such a feat was of no importance; for all he cared, she could have used her charm, or influence as the Herald of Andraste, although most likely she had turned their own weapons against them and twisted their arms with the Game or the evidence against them she had gathered. It mattered little. The important thing was that she had done it, and with it, she had secured the safety of the Empire and a strong alliance for the Inquisition. It was a risky one, of course, but nothing in Orlais was without risk. They only needed to proceed with caution in whatever involved the Orlesian royalty, but considering how well Evey had managed this whole ordeal, he had complete faith in her capabilities to manage the situation in the favor of all Thedas.

After the last of his men debriefed him about the current situation, he searched out the Inquisitor, but Morrigan had already outmaneuvered him and was talking with Evey in private. In the ten long strides it took him to reach the balcony door where the apostate and the Inquisitor were talking, he was asked for her whereabouts by at least five nobles, and even Josephine had sent a soldier to tell him that the Herald was highly sought after by nobles and servants alike to personally thank her for her intervention in what could have been a disaster. For most of them, he did his best to point them in the exact opposite direction to where he had been informed the Inquisitor actually was, hoping to give her some respite from all the night's madness.

Luckily for him, though, Morrigan and Evey's conversation was not long, otherwise he might have had time to rethink this and retire to his post without daring to claim the Inquisitor's time for himself.

When he heard Morrigan announcing they would see each other again at Skyhold, he gambled on a walk to the balcony door, ignoring completely that the mage had handily secured a one way ticket back to their mountain fortress and the stink eye the apostate threw him when she passed by, oddly similar to the one he recalled her giving him when they first met back at Kinloch Hold. Not that he expected her to remember; of that day, he remembered far too much for his liking.

Even at his obvious boot steps behind her, Evey didn't turn to look at who was coming to bother her and simply leaned on the railing, her hands over the cold marble, looking to the gardens below as if lost in contemplative thought.

She sighed heavily, though he was not sure if it was from exhaustion, or relief that everything was over, or even annoyance at hearing his steps and thinking another chatty noble was approaching. That's when Cullen almost retreated again, wary that she might find his interruption bothersome. But his desire to be there for her won out and, feeling his stomach churn with nerves, he at last spoke.

-There you are! Everyone's been looking for you.- He tried his best to sound casual and simultaneously let slip part of his worry for her through his voice, hoping she could feel his willingness to lend an ear and do whatever she required. At the same time the words left his lips, she leaned on her forearms and clasped her hands together in front of her.

When he reached her side and mirrored her positioning, turned slightly toward her conversationally, she looked up at him with a faint smile. Deep down he thanked the Maker, for she seemed happy to see him, all things considered.

-Things have calmed down for the moment… Are you alright?

She looked utterly fatigued, her eyes barely reflecting her smile and her lips fighting her apparent exhaustion. She was so near, her arm only a couple of inches from him, and the fact that she hadn't flinched when he took his place so close beside her made something inside him rejoice. Still, her proximity did nothing to calm his need to reach for her, to hold her in his arms and let her be herself, and not whatever Orlais had made her become this evening for the good of the Inquisition. Dutifully, he forced himself to also clasp his hands together, clutching tightly to suppress his need to touch her.

At his question, she turned and pulled herself upright from her previous position, the arm nearest him falling to her side, almost as if she was unconsciously opening the barrier she had created before, begging him to hold her close just by opening the pathway for him. When he only leaned there and continued to look at her, tightening his hands even more and desperately trying to ignore how easily he could simply slip his arm around her, she sighed and furrowed her brows a little, allowing herself all the gestures she had been repressing that night.

-I'm just worn out. Tonight has been... very long.- With her last words, she once again leaned her arms on the railing, dropping her head as in defeat.

Seeing this, he pulled himself up, not so different to how she had done before, but did not release his arms from the railing. Nevertheless, he turned to look at her more directly, his hand twitching involuntarily at the brief thought of touching her arm.

-For all of us. I'm glad it's over.

She sneered faintly, as if the mere memory of tonight's events brought a bad taste to her mouth. Her eyes stayed low nonetheless, and Cullen's heart hurt at sight of how much it all weighed on her. Still, his self control could only go so far, and without even stopping to think if the gesture would be too familiar, he reached toward her, caressing her back just beneath her shoulder in an effort to sooth her.

-I know it's foolish, but I was worried for you tonight.- His voice sounded as open and honest as he could convey, showing her that he had been thinking of her almost constantly, even though he didn't dare admit to that exactly.

At those words, she turned and looked at him with a genuinely warm smile that lasted all too briefly, her eyes immediately fixing again on the garden below, allowing the cloud of doubt and regret to fall over her again.

Cullen was fairly certain he knew what was going through her mind. She was replaying every gesture, every word, every choice she made, wondering over and over if she had done the right thing, and if the path she had taken would eventually lead the Inquisition, Orlais, and indeed all of Thedas, to success or utter ruin. She feared not only for their organization, but for everyone who was dependent upon the consequences of the decision she had made earlier. And he knew he was unable to make her banish those worries completely. She took her duty seriously, but it was taking a toll on her that was slowly extinguishing the flame which burned deep in her heart.

He was desperately speculating how to make her feel brighter, to rekindle that fire, to see her smile and allow her to relax on a night that had allowed her to do anything but, when he heard the people inside clapping their hands in celebration of the new piece the orchestra was beginning to play. He then remembered her previous request and how unintentionally rude he had been. The moment could not be better. He had wanted to ask for her forgiveness for his harsh reaction, but with more than mere words could convey, and at the same time he wanted to hold her as much as he felt she needed to be held.

Without losing another second lest he also lose his courage, he smiled at her and stroked her back again, drawing her attention to him.

-I may never have another chance like this, so I must ask.- He left her side, retreating a couple of steps, his arm extended toward the rest of the balcony in indication of what he was about to do. Then he reached for her again, holding his hand up mere inches from her and bending at his waist in what he hoped was a good imitation of a gentlemanly bow worthy of her status. Cullen kept his smile despite his fluttering stomach, and it grew wider at her blatant surprise a moment before he asked, confirming her suspicions. -May I have this dance, My lady?

His heart rose up to meet his throat when he noticed how her eyes sparkled, that fire he adored coming back in a blaze as if it had never been snuffed out. The knowledge that he had caused that made him ecstatic, even before her words spurred his heart to race frantically.

-Of course! I thought you didn't dance,- she accepted, taking his hand and immediately moving close to him, virtually pressing her body to his and placing her other hand on his upper arm.

Cullen took her by the waist softly without pressing her nearer to him, but made sure she stayed in his arms, at least for as long as this blessed moment lasted.

When her lovely eyes raised and found his, the intensity of his stare left her astonished, capturing her completely upon his answer.

-For you, I'll try,- he replied, almost chuckling as he finished.

In that moment, everything dissolved into oblivion. Every derisive commentary she had heard, every trap she had found laid in her way, both palpable and laced with poisonous words, every second she felt uncomfortable under the relentless watch of the guests, even every inappropriate suggestion or liberty the nobles had taken, every grope they had tried to pass off as an honest mistake... It all meant nothing.

The Empress, Gaspard, Briala, even the Inquisition disappeared. In his arms and with his eyes fixed on her, glowing with candor and understanding, nothing else mattered.

They were not the Inquisitor and the Commander. They were Cullen and Evey, and they were free to do as they desired.

For the first time since she had met him, she allowed herself to become lost in his eyes, watching him closely enough to notice the golden lines running amongst the amber there, like sunrays highlighting a river of honey, almost calling her to dive into its sweetness. As she watched, she noticed the color disappearing, his pupils engulfing them slowly as though trying to better capture her image. In turn, her heart began to thunder away in her chest, making her insides flutter when she realized she was so close to him that, without his usual armor to shield him, he would certainly be able to feel how much he'd affected her. But even if she knew her response was betraying her true feelings, she was unable to stop it, her body now far beyond her control, growing closer to him by the second, her head spinning as much as they were, not even noticing how his feet were struggling to keep up and not step on her. To Evey, the moment was perfect, and for Cullen, even though half his attention was desperately focused on the distance he needed to maintain to avoid trampling her underfoot, all the world around had been reduced to her, and only her.

Emboldened by a full minute without any mistakes, Cullen took her hand and spun round, tugging her back a bit too enthusiastically after she giggled and allowed her head to relax and her hair to spin with her, forming a halo around her. When they came together again, she practically crashed against his chest, placing her free hand next to his heart to stop her forward momentum before she pushed them both, making him blush furiously when he realized he had used too much strength to pulled her back to him.

He murmured an apology and she chuckled, telling him it was alright and immediately placing her cheek right above his heart and leaving her hand, still clasping his, next to her nose, almost brushing her lips along the sides of his fingers, sighing heavily when he relaxed after a couple of seconds.

It was then that she noticed how furiously his heart was beating, almost in unison with her own, and she felt a blush crawling its way up her cheeks. Her mind was frantic, trying to figure out if his heartbeat spoke to his nerves at dancing without any previous experience, or for the fact that it was _her_ he was dancing with. After a few seconds, she decided she would have time to worry about that after the night was over, and forced herself to grow lost in the moment, going with the flow instead of overthinking it... Of course, that was easier said than done, and with each passing moment she realized she was growing more nervous.

Just when she feared he would notice her anxieties, she felt his breath on her head, too near to be more than an inch away from her hair, and the mere realization that he was attempting to get even closer to her made her raise her head and look at him.

Contrary to what he would have guessed he would have done, when she glanced up at him after he had been about to kiss her hair, he held her stare, completely unable to resist getting lost in those eyes, looking at him with a fire that he feared to determine whether he had lit there.

For a moment that felt like an eternity, they stopped moving and lost all notion of everything around them. They were not even sure if the music was still playing on, or if they were drawing breath, fearful they would ruin whatever was happening with something as simple as breathing.

Suddenly, and without anyone being the wiser, they had grown closer still to each other, and she had unwittingly raised her head as much as he had lowered his, their bodies almost calling for each other despite the fact that they were already completely melded together.

Her eyes began to grow heavy, and she opened her lips slowly in a sigh that sounded just like his name.

Right then, Cullen knew the battle was lost and that nothing could stop him from leaning just a little more and capturing her lips in a kiss he had delayed for far too long.

But it was then that the band finished their piece and the audience began to applaud enthusiastically, causing them to snap out of their dream and into reality, where Cullen realized he was inappropriately holding the Inquisitor in his arms in full sight of anyone that glanced toward the balcony.

As soon as they had come together, they released each other, both looking straight to the floor as if the patterned tiles were the most amazing discovery in the Dragon Age.

Cullen cleared his throat nervously, trying extremely hard not to think about how close he had come to kissing her.

Evey in turn was kicking the floor with the tip of her boots, hidden by the hem of her dress, in complete embarrassment for what she had done. She knew Cullen was a gentleman, and as such would not reject her plainly or rudely, especially considering she was his superior, so the notion that she had forced this uncomfortable situation on him was appalling. He would not stop her, but would instead trust that she would not take advantage of her position and realize of her own volition what was appropriate and what it wasn't.

-Cullen I...- _I what? I'm sorry I tried to kiss you? Andraste preserve me, I don't know what to say!_ She looked up and saw how he kept his eyes fixed on the floor, avoiding eye contact with her. _Maker, he can't even look at me!_

Sighing and knowing perfectly well that she had ruined any opportunity she might have had with him, she surrendered herself to cowardice.

-I think I'm going to retreat for the night,- she mumbled, not sure if she wanted him to hear her or not.

Not a second too soon, she was walking back to the ballroom without even looking at him, when she felt his hand on her wrist.

She turned in surprise, and saw shyness in his eyes at the same time his hand relaxed, not fully releasing her but not stopping her from leaving if that was what she truly wanted.

-Please, can I...- He cleared his throat and lowered his eyes to their joined hands. -Would you allow me to accompany you to your room?

Her treacherous mind conjured the imagine of them entering her room hand in hand, only to come together immediately after the door closed, Cullen holding her from behind and planting a fervent kiss on the tender spot between neck and shoulder, and a deeper blush crept to her cheeks, her eyes growing slightly larger at the image.

The expression on her face seemed to instantly reveal her fantasies to Cullen, and of what his words had possibly implied. Fighting furiously to find the right words, he continued,

-I mean... the nobles... After all you've accomplished, it's doubtless they'll not leave you alone, but if you allowed me to escort you...- He left it there, waiting for her answer and fearful of raising his eyes and find hers full of rejection.

But to his delight, when she answered, she sounded not only surprised, but immensely grateful.

-Would you do that...?- The question sounded unfinished, as if she had tried to say something else but refrained herself at the last second. When he heard that, he raised his eyes and saw her own shining with something akin to hope.

 _Does she...?_ _No, don't go there, you've done enough for the night... Maker, you've done enough for the century!_

Still, his mind refused to ignore that small ray of hope his heart was desperately clinging to.

-If you let me,- he said with the mere thread of voice, lowering his eyes to the pulse in her neck which revealed that her hammering heart was mimicking his with its frantic beating.

Her answer came in the same soft tone that he had used.

-Gladly.

By the time he raised his gaze again, she was already turning to the ballroom, her hand sliding slowly from his. Cullen did not waste another second to reach her side, and escorted her silently back to the guest wing.


	33. Chapter 33

**This is a personal favorite. Hope you enjoy it too**

 **oOo**

Chapter 33: Yet I'm Still Here

The walk back had not been as sweet and peaceful as she had hoped, at least not in the end. It was during their travel that she had found the most time to think about what happened, free of all the nobles trying to suck up every second of her day, while the rest of the Inquisition company was clearly more at ease now that the court was behind them, and they did not need to check if their shadows were the only thing lurking at their backs.

The atmosphere was relaxing and joyous. They were not only coming back from a significant victory, but they had also gained power, influence, and most of all, the freedom to revert back to their true selves without worrying about committing a politically foolish mistake that would put their organization and goal at risk. They were among friends again, family if you will, and the peace of mind that brought to everyone was palpable in each smile and contented sigh, in each pat on the back or sudden, bubbling laugh.

In all but three faces.

Cole's brow had been furrowed from the very moment he stepped a foot inside Halamshiral, and even though the Palace and political machinations were now miles behind them, his frown still remained. He felt confused; he couldn't understand why the guests did not just say what they wanted. They lied with both faces, changing, swerving, switching constantly between one person and the other but remaining the same, still. He felt lost, befuddled by those people and the dangerous possibility that they might have changed him. He hadn't been able to help anyone there, and now, when he distinctly sensed Evey emitting conflicting vibes, he did not feel he could help her, either. Had they tainted him, made him part of that "Game" everyone talked about but that he couldn't see? Had they affected his friend just as much as they had clearly affected Commander Cullen?

All of this caused Cole to become somber as he detected Cullen and Evey's mixed feelings. He didn't realize those thoughts had come up only _after_ the whole affair with the Empress and Florianne, nor that they didn't have anything to do with Orlais, but rather with their own emotions. Their minds were such a parade of speculation, self recrimination, doubt, memories, fear and sentiments that they were hard to read, let alone understand.

In fact, not even _they_ understood what was going on inside them.

Evey was completely mortified at what she felt was unnecessary, borderline stalker behavior on her part, practically forcing Cullen to acquiesce her own set of the Orlesian admirers he had managed to escape only minutes before their dance. And Cullen was chastising himself, thinking he had taken advantage of Evey's vulnerability after an emotionally and physically trying night.

Still, contrary to the Commander, who refused to believe there had been some note of acceptance in the way Evey had looked at him and leaned toward him, searching for the same kiss that had been branded into his fantasies for months, as the time and miles passed by and Evey replayed their dance ad nauseam in her head, she began to listen more and more to that part of her which realized Cullen had been open to what, a second before the orchestra interrupted them, had seemed an inevitable conclusion to a wonderful dance.

Without her guilt to cloud her judgment after she grew completely exhausted of going in circles over something she couldn't change even if she wanted to, she began to remember how his caress on her back had been softer than any she'd ever received. His eyes had shone when she accepted his invitation to dance, his hand had twitched when he had laid it on her lower back, and his heart had beat furiously when she rested her head on his chest… And his lips had graced her hair, emitting a soft, almost relieved sigh immediately before he became aware of what he was doing.

It wasn't the first time he had done that, either. Back in the glade where she had been training, he'd also embraced her and nearly kissed her head, pressing her body to him as if he had wanted to protect her from the world just by shielding her with his body. She couldn't remember anyone doing that outside of potential suitors, when they had courted her and shyly began to walk down that road where a man tried to refrain himself from getting too close, but at the same time wanted nothing but to hold the woman who was becoming more dear to him closely in his arms. In fact, the only people who had done that, save for the two men she had unsuccessfully courted in her past, had been her parents, but she seriously doubted Cullen had any paternal feeling toward a woman just six years younger than him. He didn't appear to perceive her in a fraternal way, either, not going by the way he had looked at her that night, nor in the manner he seemed to grow nervous every time a distance between them was closed for whatever reason. And definitely not in the way he had moved toward her for those last seconds of their dance.

That was perhaps what convinced her the most. Riding on her horse (she had refused to sit in the carriage for the journey back) and closing her eyes, she could almost see Cullen again, his eyes fixed on hers constantly, barring the short glances he stole to her lips, only to return back to her eyes once more, his pupils swallowing the amber color in almost raw desire.

Had it been like that? Or was her mind playing tricks on her, mixing dreams and desires with reality? Maker, how she wanted it to be real!

But how to know it for sure?

Instinctively she looked back at Cole, and immediately discarded the idea, partially because the poor boy was still too absorbed in his own mind, trying desperately to understand the Orlesian way of thinking, and partially because resorting to a spirit who could read human emotions didn't seem fair. There was the risk of being wrong, and consequently being completely and humiliatingly rejected. No matter how polite Cullen could be, the mere idea of him not reciprocating her feelings like she hoped brought shivers down her spine, paired with such abasement that she felt compelled to hunch over the saddle and hide her face from everyone near her, as though they could predict what she might face if she took the risk of trying to confess. But the alternative of not knowing the truth was not something she could stomach, either.

When she shook her head to dispel that horrible feeling of impending rejection, she accidently exchanged a glance with Cullen, his mount keeping pace with hers at her far right.

And then she saw it again. For the brief second they'd looked at each other before he averted his eyes, his lips moving as if he was mumbling something to himself while rubbing the back of his neck, Evey could still see some of that same fire that had lit his eyes a few nights before on the Winter Palace's balcony.

 _That_ was enough to convince her of what she needed to do.

oOo

They arrived at Skyhold when the morning was still exclusive to the peak of the Frostback Mountains, the rest of their surroundings covered in the mantle of nightfall. The sun was beginning to show itself far in the east, its rays peeking through the mountains almost shyly, giving Skyhold a faint red glow as the sun began to stretch its fiery fingers around the yard.

It was beautiful, and Cullen couldn't help but watch how that glow washed over Evey. Her hair was akin to fire, the golden strands shifting to a reddish hue, like unpurified gold with too much copper running through it, turning her almost into a redhead, and him to immediately shift his eyes to Iron Bull, who, true to his fetish, was looking at the Inquisitor with burning eyes. He couldn't blame him, even if he loathed the fact that another man was lusting after her, temporarily as it might be. She was a sight to behold, even when she seemed tired and conflicted after all that had transpired in Orlais.

That thought reminded him of what had taken place between _them,_ and with it, he felt a little bit more of a coward for not being able to talk to her, even after all these days. He imagined he would have to bring it up eventually, but wished with all his might that the day never came, both of them satisfied with leaving this as it was, discarding that moment as one of utter confusion and foolishness on both their parts, never to mention it again… even when he knew for a fact that he would never be able to go one more day without thinking of her in his arms, pliable and wonderful, looking back at him with large eyes and tempting lips.

Someone, he didn't care who, walked to him and took the reins from his hands. He absently nodded to him in thanks for seeing to his horse, and even greeted Rylen when he arrived to debrief him about what had happened while they were gone, how the troupes had fared with the training schedule he had deliberately left behind with his Knight Captain so his men would not slack without his ferocious discipline.

Contrary to everything that happened in Orlais, Skyhold had remained peaceful and his men did not disappoint, taking their training as seriously as they would have done should Cullen had stayed. There had been some petty quarrels as always, but those were inevitable and Rylen had managed them impeccably, both delivering punishment and sparing guilt when needed. The only real problem came from the Approach. The troops there were in desperate need of a sturdier hand in command, and Cullen feared that before long he would have to send Rylen back, this time for good, which meant he would be one Knight Captain short, with all the extra work that would entail for him.

He flinched at the idea, already taking steps toward his office after Rylen had finished updating him. The idea of sending his trustable Knight Captain away, and the notion of carrying the man's tasks in his own hands, even for a time while searching for a replacement, did not agree with him, or with his still remaining withdrawal symptoms. He knew that adding more hours to his already arduous job would have a significant impact on his health now that he could not count on the reliable bursts of strength with which the lyrium doses used to infuse him, but no matter which avenue he chose to try and figure out a solution for the Approach problem, sending Rylen seemed the best of them all. Griffon Wing Keep was, so far, the largest stronghold the Inquisition had besides Skyhold, and he could not in good conscience send anyone but the best.

When he reached the first landing of the stairs leading to his command post, he saw Evelyn leaving the stables, probably after she'd finished brushing her horse and feeding him as she always insisted on doing after a trip, not because of a lack of trust in Horse Master Dennet, but because she was raised that way and honored her traditions.

Cullen observed in rapt fascination at how beautiful she looked, despite the fatigue from their journey.

Almost the second she left the stables, a group of people greeted her enthusiastically and she reciprocated with the same fondness they had for her, her smile ever present for them as she would to very dear friends. Even after all she had been through, she always had time to spare for the habitant and visitant alike, acting kindly toward everyone no matter their status or rank, inadvertently bursting the morale of soldiers and commoners just by being her, allowing them to see beyond the Herald of Andraste mantle to the wonderful person she was.

She did so much for the Inquisition on a daily basis, and still never complained. Cullen felt almost guilty for groaning to himself about more work when she was unable to extricate herself from her own duty for more than a few hours per day.

He sighed heavily and climbed the rest of the stairs to his tower.

Once he reached it, he felt tempted to jump out the windows, even when said windows were not wide enough for him to do so. The amount of paperwork waiting for him on his desk was worthy of such a reaction, after all. He could hardly see his desk below all those reports, and almost as if on cue, and to make things even more impossible, his temples began to ache with the first signs of a coming migraine.

-Perfect,- he grumbled to no one in particular while walking to his chair.

He sat and contemplated the day to come, placing his elbows on what was left of his desk surface, and finally resting his forehead on his clasped hands, sighing heavily.

At least, he thought, this would take his mind off of her. If only for a few hours.

But first he needed a bath. There was no way he could face this amount of work without at least cleaning away the grime and sweat of the ride home. The communal baths would probably be filled with all the people from their trip having the same idea, but he could send a messenger to book a place in one of the showers in the room next to the bathtubs, which only his men and himself used after their drills. It would not be as relaxing as an immersion bath, and it would be cold since the showers were little more than spouts directly linked to the waterfalls with a hatch to stop the water from pouring in constantly, no runes like the ones Dagna had etched into the stone floor next to each pool to warm the water. Usually that was a blessing, since the physical training always left them completely flushed, and a cold bath normally ended up being more a reward than a punishment. Now it was different, but with all the work ahead, he hardly could spare time to relax.

Two hours later, and with copious amounts of tea involved, he had managed to clear almost a whole pile of parchment, most of them reports of what Rylen had said, along with the situation in the main forces camp at the bottom of the mountain, from which he had already been debriefed when their caravan had stopped there on the way to Skyhold.

He was about to breach the second of the five piles when the southern door opened, revealing a wet haired Inquisitor, dressed in her usual light brown uniform which spurred Cullen's fantasies as it accentuated each curve of her body, irrevocably reminding him of the night she took care of him, his mind fond of reminiscing about it too many times a day since, when he'd had her belly so close that he could almost trace every muscle of her body.

When she entered, her eyes were drawn to the four piles remaining on his desk, the fifth one resting on the floor next to it, and she fidget in place, as if thinking if she should retreat instead of doing whatever she had come for. Fearful of what she had to say, Cullen considered letting her go, feigning he had not noticed her eyes on him, as if she was only passing through on her way to someplace else, as she usually did. Not that she had ever simply passed by him without at least greeting him and wishing him a good day.

Still, even though the idea that she had come to talk about what transpired between them in the Winter Palace frightened him more than he was willing to admit, he feared her distance even more, and without stopping to think too much on the consequences, he stood up and looked at her.

-Inquisitor, was there something you needed?- He carefully made his way around his desk until he was able to stand in front of her.

Evelyn seemed torn then, looking to his paperwork and back to him over and over, conflicted.

-I... Yes, I did, but... I see you received the same welcome gift as me,- she said, pointing to his desk, -so I should probably leave you to it.

That was the best option, he knew it. Not only would that allow him to go back to work, but it would also delay any chat they might have, reducing the possibility of talking about the incident at the Palace. His body was not willing to let her go, though, and without even consulting with his mind, he reached for her, extending his hand but not touching or grabbing her… just making sure she understood the gesture.

-No, please, tell me what I can do for you.

For a second she looked straight into his eyes, only to lower them the moment she finished voicing her answer.

-I thought maybe we could talk. Alone?

-Alone?- His tone seemed higher than usual, revealing his aversion to the idea with just that word, the one he had prayed not to hear, especially not after the ominous "we need to talk". Inwardly, he remembered how the feared phrase used to keep his templar companions awake at night, speculating and dreading what they might have to face after their partners had said that to them. Oddly enough, he was beginning to understand their reactions now. Realizing he still had not answered, he stammered, -I mean, of course.

It didn't come off as suave as he would have liked, but that seemed hardly important when she just spun and walked to the furthest door, only casting a timid look over her shoulder to make sure he was following.

Together they strolled the ramparts in silence, going through the tower next to his at the other side of Skyhold's entrance, below them. From time to time, Evey took deep breaths and looked at him as if she was about to speak, only to look beyond the horizon in the next moment, allowing the air to soothe her of whatever it was that was bothering her. And Cullen had a pretty good idea of what that was. She had never needed to chastise him for anything, nothing beyond his utter disregard for his wellbeing when he'd neglected his rest in favor of his work. He had always answered to his duty perfectly, and now that pristine record was broken for nothing less than taking advantage of his superior in her moment of weakness.

Never in his life had he wanted to escape a confrontation so much as in that moment, but he knew sooner or later he would have to face it. So, rubbing his neck nervously, he said the first thing that came to mind, effectively distracting her from her contemplations.

-It's a nice… day.- His voice didn't sound confident at all, stammering on the last word in response to a tremble up his spine.

The Inquisitor stopped and turned to look at him, making him halt his progress as well, hand still on his neck and holding her gaze, but growing more anxiety riddled by the second.

-What?- she asked as if she had not noticed what he had said, or maybe she just found the commentary as stupid as he had once it had left his lips.

Still, nothing better came to his mind now, so he began to repeat it, looking at the floor.

-It's...- He stopped the words even as they were trying to slip pass his lips. It took him just a fraction of a second to change his mind again, thinking, _To the Void with it!_ as he realized he could not escape this. Suddenly, though, with her seeking him out and asking for some time alone, he didn't want to.

 _Maybe, just maybe, there's hope?_

-There was something you wished to discuss,- he said as he forced himself to look at her, leaving the matter in her hands. It was not the bravest move, but it was something. The last thing he wanted, after all, was to push her into doing something she didn't want... _Like I did in the balcony._

She grimaced as if she was in pain, looking everywhere over his face but his eyes.

-Yes I..., I thought maybe we... - She began to pace and started all over. -Back at the Winter Palace...

His heart did a somersault at the mere mention of it. She mumbled a couple of things that were taken by the wind before he could make sense of them, and then sighed heavily, staring at him before closing her eyes without turning her face, so when she opened them again he would still be in front of her.

-Cullen, I care for you, and...- She sighed yet again as she opened her eyes, and Cullen struggled to calm his heart, completely astonished by the words that had come out of her mouth.

 _She cares for me? Just as... as I care for her? Andraste, please, let it be as I care for her._

After the sigh, her eyes drifted, looking at the ramparts ahead of them. Cullen tried to stay locked in place, fighting the need to catch her gaze or force her to look at him by turning her chin with a hand.

She looked uneasy, as if she was dreading his reaction, and the feeling was so akin to his that Cullen could not avoid asking.

-What's wrong?

That called her attention, and she looked back at him.

-You left the templars because of what Knight Commander Meredith did, and yet you joined the Inquisition to serve… but do you trust me? Beyond my position, I mean. Am I just the Inquisitor to you?

He found himself unable to speak, the surprise too great for his mouth to manage uttering a word. She frowned even more, the subject obviously bringing her pain, though Cullen failed to see why.

-Back there, at Halamshiral... did I force you to do something you didn't want to?

Cullen was outwardly confused, not understanding _how_ she could have interpreted his reaction in the Winter Palace as one of coercion. Not waiting for his answer, perhaps out of fear for what might be, she went on.

-Regardless of that, by now you must know how I feel.

 _Did he?_ He could only assume most of the time, but now doing so was too dangerous, the hope furiously trying to open a path to his heart.

Her throat bobbed when she swallowed. Then, lowering her head, but maintaining eye contact like a puppy when it was afraid, she added,

-Could you think of me as anything more?

He turned slightly to the side and, also frowning, still fearful of where this would lead even after she had revealed that, he answered from beyond the mantle of his coat, which was hiding him less than he had hoped.

-I could. I mean, I... I do...- _Blast this cursed stammering!_ -think of you…- He lowered his eyes to the floor, his stomach one giant, hard knot, heart racing as it sent the blood rushing to his face. He rubbed his forehead and turned to walk further down the ramparts, barely muttering, - And what I might say in this sort of situation.

There, he had said it. It was not explicit but the words were there, implied. With that simple phrase, he had finally confessed how often he had thought of her, of what he would do if the Maker smiled on him and gave him such an opportunity as this.

He stopped a few steps ahead and turned to find her at his side, staring at him. And he almost doubled over when her next words struck him so hard in his heart, so close to the mark, that he feared he might wake up in the tower at his desk, once again alone and dreaming of her.

-What's stopping you?- She leaned on the wall behind her, one hand pressed against the stone.

Andraste preserve him, he could have taken her in his arms right there to show her how little he wanted to stop himself. Just the look in her eyes and the sweetness of her tone had that effect on him.

But he couldn't, no matter how much he desired to. No matter how she seemed to want it in return. _Maker, she wants it, too!_ No, it didn't matter. There was something beyond them that could not be avoided, something he hated himself for saying, but that he knew one of them had to bring up in the conversation.

-You're the Inquisitor.- He briefly lowered his eyes to the floor, only to be drawn to her once again. -We're at war. And you... - He bet everything then, stepping closer to her, and felt elated when she didn't flinch, instead looking at him directly in his eyes. -I didn't think it was possible.

She smiled then, raising a single eyebrow as she shrugged, and answered simply,

-And yet I'm still here…

That was all the invitation Cullen needed. Slowly, almost as if he was afraid she might scurry away at his proximity, he stepped closer, dropping his voice before raising and lowering his eyebrows once.

-So you are...

He was now alternating between focusing on her eyes and lips, unable to hide his smile, the happiness pouring out of him at the same time his nerves were urging him to act now or die trying.

-It seems too much to ask.- Then the smile faded, and he looked at her seriously, trying to reflect with his eyes how much he wanted to kiss her, to have her, to make her his just as he was hers. -But I want to...- He was proving his words by moving closer to her, not even noticing that she was already leaning toward him as he was doing the same, her eyes growing heavy as they had done at the Winter Palace, her lips parting slightly open.

Cullen was ecstatic; she wanted him with the same vengeance he wanted her, and when his eyes closed as well, even as he simultaneously regretted not being able to look upon her when their lips would finally meet, his hands rested on her hips to draw her closer still. His lips opened slightly, preparing to take hers...

And then he heard a door opening close behind them.

-Commander!

He immediately pulled his face back, putting the largest distance between them that he dared without retreating from her, still holding her in his arms. At the same time, Evey's eyes fluttered open, and she dropped her head in defeat, only raising it again when she turned to the side, not looking at him anymore.

The steps of the soldier grew closer.

-You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana's report.

Cullen finally let go and took one step away from her body to face the soldier, who was completely unaware of what he had just interrupted.

When the poor sod raised his eyes, he did so in time to see the biggest scowl on the Commander's face he had ever seen. Even worse than the time he'd caught him sleeping during the night watch, or when he'd misplaced his gear after morning drills.

At Cullen's look, his blood ran cold, and the next move from the Commander did not help.

- _What?_ \- he practically growled.

And then Jim realized that he had interrupted his superior and the Inquisitor together. Still, the Commander seemed to be overreacting a bit, so he insisted despite the fact that Cullen had turned to face him completely and was now glaring at him, looking almost too much like the lion his armor resembled. And it was an angry lion.

-Sister Leliana's report? You wanted it delivered "without delay".

Cullen did not need to utter another word. He only deepened his scowl and grew closer to him, towering over him as he dared the soldier to defy him again. It was then that Jim looked behind the Commander and noticed the Inquisitor. Behind Cullen's impressive form, he spotted a very flustered and almost embarrassed Herald, shifting her eyes to the floor, unable to keep her hands still and bashfully trying to cover her face from his line of sight. Then Jim looked back at his Commander and realized he would probably be hauling logs from Skyhold to the base camp for the rest of the month, especially if he didn't flee right now.

-Or... to your office... Right,- he wilted while retreating, still keeping an eye trained on his Commander, fearful the man would pounce on him like a fierce predator. Once he was ten steps away from them, he turned, flinching and shutting his eyes tightly, almost expecting to feel something blunt catching the back of his head for all the distance it took him to reach the door again.

When Jim had at last disappeared behind the closed door, Cullen lost no time. Turning hastily, he stepped closed to her and placed each hand on the sides of her neck, already so lost in her that he nearly missed her " _If you need to..._ " before he pinned her against the ramparts, desperate to kiss her but forcing himself to do so with all the softness and tenderness he could muster, showing her how much he cared for her, how much he needed her.

Nothing, not even his wildest dreams, could have prepared him for what kissing her did to him. Each detail seemed unique and perfect: the way she gasped in surprise when he finally met her lips with his. How after only a second, she relaxed in his arms, pressing her mouth to his and humming her approval. How she instinctively began to incline her head in the opposite direction he was turning his to follow his kiss. How she hesitated until finally placing her hands on his sides, holding him but apparently completely vulnerable to his lips, losing all will just by the sheer power of his kiss. And how, seconds before he reluctantly retreated, she slightly opened her mouth, melding her lips to his even more, and producing the most beautiful sound when they drew apart.

Even though he wanted anything _but_ to retreat, he did so to give her the opportunity to change her mind, and to be able to ask her forgiveness for his impetuosity. It wasn't easy when all of her cried out for him, even when she shuddered and closed her eyes, smiling faintly when he glided his gloved fingers over her neck until just one of his hands rested on her shoulder instead. Or when she leaned unconsciously toward him when he finally dropped his hands to his sides, leaving her without his gentle touch. And specially not when she licked her lips almost imperceptibly, making him desperate to search for something to say instead of crashing his mouth against her again.

-I'm sorry...- he said, looking at her and almost faltering in his intentions to talk instead of kissing her again. She was so beautiful, all flushed and bothered by his kiss, and Cullen had to drop his eyes briefly to gather the strength to resist her. -That was... ummm...- With his eyes lowered, he watched as her hand raised to touch him again, but faltered in the last second, dropping with a twitch as if trying to dispel her desire. It was so adorable that it brought yet another smile to his face, one that he had no intention of fighting. Bringing his eyes up to her again, he added, -Really nice.

"Really nice" could not begin to describe it, actually, but his mind was so overcome by her that any other words would have been impossible to voice.

Blushing furiously and biting her lip slightly, which caused Cullen to draw a deep breath for calm and will himself to not rush things, she smiled radiantly, only to furrow her brow a second later, fear clouding her gorgeous features.

-You don't regret it, do you?

The question took him so much by surprise that his voice once again came out high pitched.

-No!- He then repeated himself, trying to reassure her with a deeper, softer tone, -No.- He smiled then, an idea coming to his aid. -Not at all,- he reassured her, kissing her once more to prove his point.

How could Cullen ever regret it? This was beyond his wildest dreams. Well, no, not exactly, he _had_ dreamt of her, like this and more... So much more. But to have it come true was something he'd never thought he would live to see. And it was so perfect, so wonderful that he didn't care if all of Skyhold saw them. He just wanted to enjoy the sheer bliss of having her in his arms, kissing her to his heart's content.

The only thing that would have made it better was if he were not wearing his cumbersome armor, all metal gone and her body actually flushed against him instead of his chest plate, her hands roaming his back with only a shirt, at best, between them to keep her from his flesh, until that too was abandoned and she could touch him directly, just as she had done that night in his room on the upper floor of his post, but so much better now that they belonged to each other.

He could not help but imagine it, the same scenario he had dreamed countless times, replaying a similar situation to the one of that night, but feeling her pliant and willing against his lips and his body.

The mere fantasy (now actually possible in some future) brought a groan to his lips, and she answered, holding him even closer, humming back as if she could read his mind and liked what she saw to the point of trying to make it a reality, right there and then.

Encouraged by the sounds he was drawing out of her, he timidly brushed his tongue against her lower lip, only to feel his stomach leap when she moaned in his mouth and, pressing herself closer to him, opened her lips, allowing him entry.

Their tongues found each other and Cullen lost himself to her: her touch, her lips, her taste, all of it singing to him, stronger than lyrium, sweeter, kinder, compliant, but passionate with something close to savage in the way she looked at him when at last he retreated to watch her and brand that look on his memory. Evey smiled coyly the next second, as if she was suddenly conscious of how fervently she had responded to him. He smiled back, not hiding the feral desire that probably shone plainly in his eyes at the look of her lips, slightly swollen from their kissing, and in turn she hid her face in his neck, pecking it and nuzzling him while sighing happily.

Cullen was undone, his left hand buried in her hair at the back of her neck, hearing her sigh against his skin while he gathered her in his arms, trying to mold her body to his armor even though they could hardly get any closer to one another. He dropped his lips to her hair, kissing her there, only to rest his cheek on that very spot a second later, breathing in her perfume and sighing deeply, content to keep her there in his arms, basking in this precious moment.

Neither of them could say how long they stayed there before she moved her head to look up at him, and he reluctantly let her go in favor of watching her. She smiled, and got on her tip toes to peck him on the lips before she stroked his cheek, watching in delight at how he leaned on her hand, closing his eyes and enjoying her caresses.

When he opened them again, he shook his head in disbelief, earning a laugh from her.

-What?- she asked when he just smiled at her happiness, still looking at her as if she was about to disappear at any moment. Hearing her question, he shook his head once again.

-It's just that I still can't believe it.

She seemed surprised.

-Really?- Then she blushed furiously. -After what I did in the Palace, I thought you knew already.- She lowered her gaze to his chest, still remaining firmly against him. -I was afraid you would hate me for taking advantage.

At her admission, he laughed loudly. The irony of it all was not lost on him.

-Don't laugh! I was really worried!- she swatted at him playfully on his chest piece with so much tenderness that she wouldn't have crushed a fly if she had caught it in the middle.

Cullen tried to obey, but even when he managed to stop laughing so loudly, he still could not refrain a few bouts of chuckles while he replied.

-I'm not laughing at you; I'm laughing at us!- She raised one eyebrow, confused. -After all, I've been worried about the same thing for the last six days,- he revealed while raising the right side of his mouth in a crooked half smile, his scar tightening with it, only to burst into laughter the next second when he heard the laughter start to also emerge from her.

When they stopped, she bit her lower lip and shook her head, thinking of how stupid they had been, her forehead resting on his chest plate. He kissed the top of her head again, reveling in the freedom of finally being able to do what he had almost done twice before.

-So...- she began after a while, -how long have you wanted to kiss me?

He laughed through his nose.

-Longer than I should admit... You?- he wondered with a raised brow.

-Longer than what's appropriate for a lady,- she answered, winking at him.

He then leaned until he had his lips close to her ear and, enjoying the shudder that his voice provoked in her, said,

-Good...- And with a kiss on her neck, and a last one on her lips, he added, looking back to the tower door beyond which stood his own and sighing as he contemplated all the work he had left there, -I hate to do this, sweetheart, but we both have work to do, and if I don't let you go now, I fear I never will.

After his confession, and the endearment he'd used, Evey was able only to nod and follow him meekly as he took her hand and guided her to the door leading to the other end of the ramparts, and finally, his tower.

He couldn't keep his promise, though, since before they opened the door from the derelict room in that first tower, he took her once again in his arms and kissed her passionately, a hand on her lower back while the other kept the door closed. After that, he doubted himself for a second, resting his forehead against hers with his eyes closed, asking himself if parting was the best idea.

It wasn't, no matter how he looked at it, but they had to, so he released her completely, fighting the urge to at least take her hand while they walked to his post, and led her to his office.

In that small part of the ramparts between the two main towers, they found Jim animatedly talking to his fellow soldiers… at least until he saw them appear through the door, at which he paled at the Commander's scowl and practically ran toward the next tower to what Cullen assumed was the other door, and straight to the battlements beyond that, to put as much distance between them as he could. He knew he would have to deal with the soldier sometime today, but for now he chose to let the man run, if anything else but to allow him a warm up for all the drills Cullen was planning on giving him for at least the next week.

Of course, the damage was done. He could see it in the eyes of his men, the gossip almost jumping out of their mouths even as they pass by and infecting Skyhold, just as surely as any fever would. Still, he remained silent and stoically opened the door for Evey before shutting it behind them.

-I imagine people are talking already,- Evey muttered with a mixture of amusement and inevitability, shaking her head.

In turn, Cullen sighed heavily, feeling his migraine coming back.

-You wouldn't believe how quickly gossip spreads through the barracks.- There was almost disdain in his tone, and that made Evey doubt again.

-Does it bother you?- she asked, almost afraid of what his answer would be.

-I would rather my... _our_... private affairs remain that way.- Then he stepped closer to her and placed his hand in the crook of her neck, his thumb caressing her cheek. -But if there were nothing here for people to talk about, I would regret it more.

Her smile lit the room, and Cullen had to gather all his will to let her go.

Dropping his hand to his side and ignoring how she almost pouted at the loss of his touch, he urged her to the other door with a slight movement of his head.

-Your duties, Inquisitor. Mine are already claiming me.- He took her hand and kissed it, his lips slightly open, the kiss filled with a promise for when they both could escape their paperwork. Adding that to the way he said "claiming" made her think of anything _but_ her duties.

Still, that did not make the statement any less true and, sighing heavily this time in resignation, she walked past him, her hand burning where he had kissed her last, and wondered if she would be able to finish all her work in record time in order to come back to his arms as soon as possible.

oOo

 **Author's note:** **Someone dubbed the soldier that interrupted Cullen and Evey's first kiss as Jim. I have no idea where that began but I read so many stories with him as Jim that I can hardly think of him in other way.**


	34. Chapter 34

**I seriously considered splitting this chapter into two chapters but finally I decided it was important to have the two opposite situations in the same day, so you can see and feel it as it was intended.**

 **Habren Bryland is the daughter of the Arl of South Reach AND the author of one of the most annoying codex entries in the entire game, one where she request a fennec from her father (here, check it if you never read it wiki/Codex_entry:_Fennec. ) I thought she would be the perfect noble for this chapter, AND it was a proof that not only Orlesians are pampered. FYI the codex entry is 10 years old when the Inquisitor finds it so I thought time would not benefit her "lovely" personality**

 **oOo**

Chapter 34: All New, Faded for Us

That night sitting through dinner was tantamount to complete torture for Evelyn and Cullen. Not only were they dying to talk after everyone left the tables, but after spending the whole day apart, they were burning with the desire to be alone again. Both had suffered problems focusing on their duties, easily slipping out of the present moment and falling into vivid memories of the all too brief moment they had shared, turning their everlasting paperwork into a seemingly impossible job. Still, trying to work separate from one another was a significantly easier task than pretending that nothing had happened, while at the same time trying not to miss any single gesture or look from the other that might have made dinner, and their separation, more tolerable.

There were five people between them, not counting Evelyn: two on one side of the table, and three on the other. Dorian was, of course, next to Evey, and to Cullen's dismay, Sera was sitting at the mage's side. Across from Evey sat Varric, followed closely by Cole at his left, and Solas next to him, only then leaving a place for Cullen after that.

The distance was not much to complain about, but considering that between them sat some of the most unpredictable and dangerous members of the Inquisition in terms of personal affairs (save perhaps Solas), they both knew that one single glance out of place would easily give them away. What they didn't consider was the fact that, with Cole, no amount of discretion was enough.

While they were finishing the main course, surreptitiously exchanging looks over their glasses, the boy began to mumble, his eyes unfocused as he stared into the distance beyond Evelyn. The group was already accustomed to the spirit's odd eccentricities, and for much of the next ten minutes, nobody paid his hushed whispers any mind. In the meantime, the servants brought out dessert, but when Evey took a piece of cake with extra whipped cream on top and bit into it, she found herself with a lip covered in the sweet, to which she absentmindedly licked it off and wiped away the rest that she had not been able to clean with the tip of her finger, sucking the rest of the cream off while she smiled at Dorian, who was already teasing her about her voracious hunger whenever she was presented with something sweet.

Little did the Tevinter knew that a deeper, more ravenous hunger was already growing beyond control a few seats away, pinning Evelyn with amber eyes which were almost lost beyond the dilated pupils of the Commander of the Inquisition forces. Like a tangible sensation, she felt Cullen's eyes on her and turned to look at him at the same time that he lowered his cup of coffee from his lips, his eyes never leaving her. Immediately she felt an uncontrollable heat surfacing to her face that only got worse when the Commander purposely licked his lips, looking straight at her in a gesture so alluring and primal that she felt her whole body responding in kind, which apparently was evident to him since he smiled devilishly, completely ruining her intention of hiding her blush beyond her own cup and making her almost choke on her coffee.

-Hungry, breathless, insatiable, greedy. She claws my hair. I bite her lip. She moans in my ear and I melt.

Everyone at the table fell silent, Cole's mumbles now audible over their banter. Evelyn's blush had escalated to a point that hiding it proved impossible, and Cullen was looking at Cole as if he had shed his skin and transformed into a fully fledged demon in front of his eyes. Solas had actually choked on his drink and was trying to explain once again _why_ those types of private thoughts were not the most appropriate to voice, but Dorian, Varric, and Sera were doing just the opposite.

In fact, the second the boy had quieted, Dorian leaned over the table and, crossing his arms in front of him, asked in a not so subtle inquisitive tone,

-Uhh... tell us more.

Solas was not able to stop the rogue before he obeyed Dorian.

-I grow closer and she gasps. She clings to me as I pin her against the wall, and I growl when I feel her responding, wanting, longing, craving.

-Someone call the Seeker; she's going to love this,- was Varric's suggestion, provoking Sera to punch the table and laugh.

-Hell yeah, she will!

Exactly when Cullen was about to intervene, terrified that the boy would keep disclosing his innermost desires, Hawke appeared behind Varric, probably attracted by the general commotion Cole had inadvertently caused. He leaned over the dwarf's shoulder, inquiring about what had them all so excited.

-Did I miss something?

At the words of his friend, Varric just slumped, disappointed.

-Oh, _that_ explains it!- apparently blaming Cole's sudden, sordid inspiration on the mage. Hawke seemed confused, but Evey seized the moment to try and change the subject.

-Good evening, Hawke. Can we offer you something to eat?

The mage just made a wave of his hand, rejecting her offer.

-No thanks, I ate already.- His words were completely contradicted by the fact that he was already inspecting all the sweets and cakes on the table from over Varric's head, temptation in his eyes.

-So we heard,- answered Dorian in a mellow tone.

Hawke responded with a suggestive wink that seemed to be enough for everyone to assume all that had transpired with Cole was actually a sneak peek into the Champion of Kirkwall's private escapades, and since Garret was not innocent of similar trysts, no one was the wiser that the boy's revelation had not come from Varric's friend, but from someone much closer to home.

While Hawke took the vacant seat next to Sera and began picking at the sweets out on display, still claiming he had no appetite, Cullen left the table, bidding everyone a good night and bowing his head at the Inquisitor, trying his best to make sure that she understood the meaningful look he sent to her while doing so.

He had only taken one step away from the table when Dorian's voice reached him.

-Avoid the battlements, Commander. I heard there was quite the scandal there.

Cullen looked over his shoulder with badly concealed panic. Dorian was smiling at him smugly and raised his brandy cup to him in a silent toast.

-You are _welcome_ ,- he added before complaining from a sudden pain and shooting Evey with a hurtful and accusing glance. That gave Cullen time to walk out of the common room, leaving the rest of the members of the inner circle whom had heard the mage wondering what had happened in the ramparts to justify such a teasing statement.

oOo

Half an hour later, Dorian and Evey were exiting the common room for a walk in the courtyard, her hand grabbing the arm he had offered, both clad in light coats.

The mage was doing a particularly fine job of infuriating her with his silence, peacefully humming a cheerful tune while glancing over and over again at the battlements. After they descended the main stairs and she made sure no one was nearby to overhear, she sighed heavily.

-So you know.

-I beg your pardon?

-Don't try to play dumb after that warning you shouted at Cullen.

Dorian slowly took his eyes from the ramparts to look at her, a satisfied grin on his face.

-Oh, you mean your smooch fest on the ramparts this morning?

Even though she was certain Dorian already knew everything about her and Cullen, hearing it in those terms was not easy, so she hid her face in their clasped arms, groaning,

-Don't call it that!

-Do you prefer, "the passionate osculation between the lion of the keep and the untamed shrew"?- She raised her head from his arm and let her glare answered for her. -No? Pity, I thought it was quite good.

- _Dorian!_

The mage sighed as in exasperation.

-Of course I know, and I daresay by this time tomorrow everyone will. Honestly, I was surprised _Varric_ doesn't already know. Poor blighter, he's going to be devastated when he finds out.

-How do _you_ know, anyway?

-Bull told me.- Before she could ask, the Tevinter added, -" _Ben-Hassrath_ ", remember? Not that it was his finest bit of spying, anyway; you _were_ in plain sight.- He stopped and she did the same. -Which reminds me: is it true that he trapped you against the wall and ravaged you while Jim watched?

Evey widened her eyes as round as Blackwall's shield.

-What?! No! Who's Jim?

-Never mind, I sure my imagination is better anyway. Besides, our time is up, my Lady,- he added, bowing next to her and spinning her afterwards so she was facing the same way he was. He had purposely used the incident to kept her mind off their destination, and now she was in front of the stairs next to the stables, leading up to Cullen's tower. -Don't do anything I wouldn't do. And _believe_ me, there's _nothing_ I wouldn't do with that man,- he whispered in her ear and left before she was even able to utter a single word.

When she made up to the top of the stairs, she heard the other door of the tower open, and she prayed that whomever had exited Cullen's office had not been the Commander himself, nor had left another dozen people behind to occupy his time and therefore turn their supposedly private encounter into another awkward exchange of pleasantries with a full audience.

Fortunately, when she opened the door, Cullen was the only one inside the tower, distractedly going through the fourth pile of paperwork, three finished stacks resting on the floor and another one still untouched next to the papers he was inspecting at this very moment. He raised his eyes at the sound of the door and his face immediately lit at the sight of her, the report forgotten on the table as he took four long strides before reaching her side.

-You came! I wasn't sure whether you'd understood me.- He took her by the waist, immediately drawing her closer to him.

-I did, but I was somewhat delayed,- she smiled, placing one hand on the back of his neck and caressing him there, burying her fingers in the short hair there.

Cullen enjoyed the feeling for a few seconds, relishing the opportunity to be close to her again, while his own hands roamed over her waist and the small of her back. Eventually he lowered his lips to her in an almost chase peck.

-We don't have much time. I just sent a messenger to the armory to look for Rylen so we could plan tomorrow morning's training exercises.- He nuzzled her cheek, his forehead against hers.

At his words she retreated, scandalized.

-Cullen, it's almost a quarter to _eleven_!

The Commander smiled. She'd never liked that he worked this late, and he suspected the idea of him also keeping Rylen awake was not one of her favorites, either.

-I know,- he caressed her face -but I couldn't do it before...- His thumb traced her lower lip. -I was...- Cullen's eyes fixed on her mouth, -…rather distracted.

Evey hummed against him when he kissed her chastely at first, only to grow more passionate a second later, his hand sliding down her neck while the other remained splayed on her back, holding her tight. The kiss was too short for both of their liking, but they couldn't risk being discovered, knowing any second that Rylen could enter through the other door.

-Dorian knows,- she said when he unwillingly let her go.

Despite the news not being the best they could have dealt with right now, he smiled, remembering the mage's warning, which now that she was here and he finally had the chance to kiss her again, did not seem as annoying as before.

-I figured.

-And so does Bull.- _That_ was not as easy to ignore as the other. It meant the news was spreading, and considering Iron Bull had warned her that he was there no only as an ally, but periodically he would deliver reports about the Inquisition to the Antaam, this piece of information was not as unimportant as Dorian knowing.

Leaning on his desk and taking the report he had been inspecting before she entered, he groaned,

-I guess it was inevitable. Still, would you mind if we kept this between us as long as we are able?- He sent her a quick look, only to lower his eyes a second later. -I'm not ashamed, as such, but...- He glanced at the paper in his hands, absently, then said, -the moment we acknowledge this will be the moment we also have to share it with all of them as well, and,- he raised his eyes at her again, and she was able to see the intensity so characteristic of him that had always shaken her to the core, -I want to keep you only for myself for as long as I can.

He left her speechless at that, and when the silence stretched for a few seconds, he looked up at her, fearful that he might have asked too much. She watched him in turn, a smile growing by the second as she bit her lower lip, and when he raised his brows in question, she nodded.

-It might be less than we could hope for, but whatever time we have, it's yours.

-Ours,- he corrected, and could not stop himself from pulling her back to him with a hand at the back of her neck, kissing her gently.

Then, knowing each minute they were closer to being interrupted, he decided to put some distance between them, so he took back the report for the third time. Evey was more daring, and less disciplined, so it was no surprise that when he stepped back to the desk again, she advanced, urged by her desire to keep him close, and the curiosity to see what was holding so much of his attention.

Cullen shuddered lightly when he felt her reading over his shoulder, one hand trying in vain to engulf his waist and barely achieving half of that, resting instead on the armor at his lower abdomen. In that moment, the Commander cursed his obsession of wearing armor when he realized it was hindering the possibility of feeling her hand there once more, but with one significant difference: she was awake and very much willing to be near him, instead of sleeping in a tent and holding him while still lost in a dream. This time, he was even allowed to spin and kiss her senseless if he so wished, and the effect that idea was having on him was testing his self control, all in him screaming that he should not waste a second of her company on anything but holding her close and kissing her until they couldn't breathe.

He was seriously considering locking the door, without even thinking twice about what Rylen do once he reached the tower, when she spoke again, breaking the silence.

-Is that the Arling of South Reach's seal?- Cullen gave her a look full of surprise. -What?- she asked, feigning offense whilst retreating, which caused Cullen to hate himself for losing her touch, even if he knew she was toying with him. -For your information, I studied all the major settlements of Thedas and their freeholders...- She grimaced. -Well, most of them, at least. I confess complete ignorance when it comes to Tevinter nobility.- She looked once again over his shoulder. -And that _is_ the South Reach's seal!

Cullen sighed.

-I'm afraid it is.- He took the paper in his hands, looking at it as if its mere presence was offensive. -It's from Habren Bryland, the Arl's daughter. She's taken an interest in the Inquisition, and I'm afraid I won't be able to dissuade her.

-In the Inquisition... Or in _you_?

Cullen's blush said it all.

-After Halamshiral, I'm not sure I'm in any shape to tolerate the more disguised demands from some nobles, flailing their titles around to fulfil their every whim.- Now he was rubbing his temple with one hand, the other still holding the letter. Evey stepped closer once again and, placing one hand over his, managed to soften his hold on it enough to take it from him.

-Leave it to me. I'll be sure to change her mind.- Cullen looked at her almost in fear. -Don't worry, I'll do so in such a way that not even Josephine could find fault with me.

-Are you sure? Leliana told me she met her over a decade ago in Denerim, and that she is quite... insistent. I doubt her personality has improved with the years, especially when her father makes a habit of giving her everything she asks for. I wouldn't want to take her off my back only to place her on yours.

-You won't, believe me.- She looked at the letter now in her hand and smiled, thoroughly amused. -You don't have much patience for nobility. I'm glad my title didn't scare you off.

She raised her eyes from the letter to find him looking at it, too, almost as if lost in thought.

-I hadn't considered... I have no title outside the Inquisition.- Then, as if realizing the implications of that, he raised his eyes to her, full of doubt. -I hope that doesn't... I mean, _does_ it... bother you?- He scratched his right calf with his left foot, shifting his weight from one side to the other, cautiously awaiting her answer.

-No... If you care for me, that's all that matters.

Cullen was not able to fully disguise his relief, but Evey did a better job concealing how much his nerves and his sporadic insecurities melted her heart. He looked particularly vulnerable when it came to his feelings for her, and that idea made her nervous as well, but in a good way. Still, she needed to clear the air of any awkwardness that might linger from her commentary, so she tried to reassure him.

-I wasn't trying to put you on the spot.

She should have known, though, that once Cullen had his attention on something, it was hard to distract him. He looked at her for another moment, as if trying to gather the courage to say something else.

Then he sighed and, trying to smile confidently, added,

-I'm not very good at this, am I?- He caressed her cheek, something that she realized had become her second favorite thing, right behind his kisses. -If I seem unsure, it's because it's been a long time since I've wanted _anyone_ in my life. I wasn't expecting to find that here. Or you.

The softness of his voice almost undid her. Maker, she was crazy for this man! He was smiling at her now, a slight blush in his cheeks while he continued to caress her, as if trying to assess the situation to see if it was proper to kiss her again. She was about to decide for him when they both heard steps drawing closer to the west door.

Knight Captain Rylen entered a few seconds later to find his superior and the Inquisitor standing a few feet from each other, leaning over the desk and apparently reviewing some of the reports scattered over the wooden surface. The Knight Captain found the everyday scene uncomfortable after what he had heard from those two soldiers in the armory. If what they had seen had been true, the Commander and the Inquisitor were doing a very good job at hiding it. Maker knew he wouldn't be able to if he were in his superior's place. Perhaps Evelyn Trevelyan was not the Knight Captain's type, but he had lived and was still young enough to enjoy the pleasures of a woman's company, and if half of what he heard had been true, then those two shared such passion that their endurance at standing so far apart and working as if nothing had happened was something worthy of praise.

When he stepped inside the office, he cleared his throat to announce his presence, more as deference toward whatever job they were revising than for genuine concern of not having being heard.

-I'm sorry to interrupt, Commander... My lady Inquisitor,- he greeted her by bowing slightly toward her direction.

To his surprise, it was Lady Trevelyan who answered.

-You are not interrupting at all, Knight Captain. In fact, I was waiting for you.

-For me, my Lady?- Rylen seemed confused, and if his surprise had been less, perhaps he would have noticed how he wasn't the only one, for Cullen was also looking askance at Evelyn.

-Yes, of course. Commander Cullen informed me of your impeccable job in our absence, and I didn't want to end the day without expressing my gratitude for your dedication.- She was smiling radiantly and Cullen almost felt jealous by the fact that her engaging smile was directed at another man. Everything between them had happened so quickly, and they had had so little time to enjoy it that what had begun less than a week ago as a possessiveness born from the memory of her touch had escalated to a patent need of indulge in his selfishness by having her all to himself, at least for a little longer. The feeling was fleeting though, and after it passed, Cullen blamed it on the still fresh memory of the nobles in Halamshiral, whom preyed on her for a whole night.

-I... I don't know what to say, Your Grace... I thank you for your kind words,- the Knight Captain finally answered, stammering at first, and bowing once again at the end.

Evey stepped closer to him, and once he raised to his full height again, she took his hand and squeezed it lightly, smiling.

-Good, we've come from a place where they indulge in too many words with little to no meaning behind them. It's good to come back home and find that actions, and not hollow promises, rule in Skyhold.

The Knight Captain then bowed again, blushing lightly.

Wishing them a good night and smiling inwardly at Cullen's baffled face, Evey then left the tower.

oOo

The next day, there was no doubt for where she would go first thing in the morning. Her night had been filled with dreams of Cullen, the Fade giving her something pleasant to spend the night with for a change, all nightmares forgotten, only him and her; no Inquisition, no war, no Corypheus to stand in the way, as they could not do in the waking world… at least for now. So when her eyes opened, she felt so happy that there was no one else she wanted to share it with but him.

She dressed with her accustomed Inquisitor's uniform and went straight downstairs to the rotunda to reach Cullen's tower on the easiest and fastest route.

But what she thought would be no more than a casual exchange of "good day" with Solas, turned out to be something far less pleasant. The elf was on his chair, serious and peering into the distance as though lost in contemplative thought. He was no stranger to such inclinations, but his expression still seemed too perturbed to be just mulling over a theory or a new discovery made last night during his travels through the Fade. When she stepped closer, she caught him taking a sip of his tea, and then he shuddered and shook his head in disgust, staring at his cup afterwards as if it had personally offended him.

-Something wrong with your tea, _ma falon_?- The endearment which always seemed to bring him a small amount of joy, at least because Evey had taken the time and effort to learn more of him and his language, this time made him flinch, as though she had said something that hurt him.

-It is _tea_ ; I detest the stuff… But this morning, I need to shake the dreams from my mind,- he said with a sigh, evidently tired. -I may also need a favor.

-You just have to ask, Solas. You know you can count on me for anything. -Again, what was meant to be comforting seemed to hurt him, but he still nodded his thanks.

He got up, unable to sit still, and began to walk with decision. Facing the wall, he began to tell her what apparently was paining him.

-One of my oldest friends has been captured by mages.- He turned and raised his hand in the air in a gesture of frustration. -Forced into slavery. I heard the cry for help as I slept.- He brushed a hand across his forehead, almost as if he was hoping that might erase the memory of his friend's despair.

When his words completely registered in Evey's mind, though, she felt curious at this strange power to call out to another in times of need. It may not be the best moment to ask, but said ability could be of great use to all of them.

-When your friend was captured, how did he... she...

-It.

- _It?_

-My friend is a Spirit of Wisdom.- _Alright, that explains a lot_ , Evey thought. When she gathered the pieces of the puzzle together and said farewell to any ability that she might've had the illusion of obtaining, which looked to be evidently only one inherently of spirits, he continued.

-Unlike the spirits clamoring to enter our world though the rifts, it was dwelling quite happily in the Fade.- Solas smiled absently, probably at the memory of his friend in better times. -It was summoned against its will, and wants my help to gain its freedom and return to the Fade.

-I thought spirits _wanted_ to find their way into this world.

Despite the situation she saw the corner of Solas's mouth raising at her curiosity, he would always approve of her thirst for knowledge.

-Some do, certainly, just as many Orlesian peasants wish they could journey to exotic Rivain.- He grew serious then. -But not _everyone_ wants to go to Rivain. My friend is an explorer, seeking lost wisdom and reflecting it. It would happily discuss philosophy with you,- he once again smiled at the memory, -but it had no wish to come here physically.

She nodded, already planning their course of action. But first she needed to know more of this.

-Do you have any idea what the mages want with your friend?

Solas frowned at this, and his voice grew darker.

-No. It knows a great deal of lore and history, but a mage could learn that simply by speaking to it in the Fade.- _That,_ if you didn't take into account that most mages, and people in general, thought every spirit was a demon and normally avoided them like a plague. Of course Solas knew that, but reminding him of something that he would never forget anyway in a moment like this was simply cruel, so she remained quiet. -It is possible that they seek information it does not wish to give… and intend to torture it…

There was a finality in his voice that gave her a shiver. Solas seemed convinced that they were already doing exactly that.

-Do you know where your friend was summoned?

-It should be somewhere in the Exalted Plains. The exact location eludes me, but I should be able to feel it once we get closer.

Evey nodded, already thinking of all the provisions she'd need for the journey. Her day spent with Cullen would have to be delayed, since nothing would prevent her from helping her friend.

-All right, tell Cassandra and Varric to get ready. We'll leave Skyhold in three hours.

- _Ma serannas, ma falon_.- Solas bowed his head and immediately retreated to the common room to search for Varric.

She, in turn, called two messengers to gain time. One would go to Leliana and Josephine, warning them about their change of plans and requesting they forward the most urgent of the reports they would have presented her with that afternoon in the war council to her quarters in one hour's time, so she could take them with her. They would have to contain only the most critical matters that would require her direct intervention, or that would be of essence for her to know for when she came back; nothing that would keep her busier, if it could wait. They were on a rescue mission, and time was of the essence. The other messenger would go to Dennet to ask him to prepare their mounts. Harts, if she was assessing the situation correctly, would be better for the type of terrain and the exertion they would impose on them. Master Dennet's suggestions were, of course, welcome and appreciated.

She would use the hour she had before receiving the reports from Josephine and Leliana to gather her gear and check on Cullen. After all, he also would be required to send any urgent matters to her, just as her female advisors would. But now, more than before, she needed to steal at least a couple of minutes alone with him and say her farewells until her return.

oOo

-Sister Leliana has no news of him,- the woman's voice traveled to the Inquisitor's ears even as she opened the door. Cullen saw her and hesitated for a second to reply, only to turn to the messenger again.

-He may have been transferred to another circle. I know it isn't much to go on.- And with that, he dismissed her, and Evey nearly grinned at the opportunity to be alone with the Commander.

-I will let Sister Leliana know.

The soldier was about to go when Cullen said,

-Wait, I may have a few more names.- He scribbled a list quickly and gave it to her.- Stay with Lady Nightingale and assist her in whatever she needs. She'll refuse, but tell her I ordered you to. We need to find helpful and trustworthy men to aid with the new recruits and their training.

The woman nodded, bowed to him, and with a simple "Inquisitor" toward Evelyn, left the tower.

The moment the soldier was gone, Cullen was rounding his desk and walking toward her. Only when he was straight in front of her did he suddenly doubt himself. The day before, everything had happened so fast, and now with a whole night between their last kiss, he felt apprehensive to take the initiative, fearful that she had reconsidered their relationship. And so it was that instead of kissing her as he had wanted to do from the second he regained consciousness from a night filled with dreams of her, he stayed there, looking between her and the wall behind, rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck.

-Good morning,- he smiled sweetly. - Did you sleep well?

-I did,- she answered, and even though she seemed stricken with the same shyness as him, she took one step into his personal space, almost seeking refuge against his chest plate and raising one hand to his, taking it and playing with both their fingers, observing just how his hand dwarfed her own. He in turn took one of her loose strands of hair, which always seemed to find a way to fall out from her bun, and tucked it behind her ear, brushing it slightly and hearing how she sucked in air nervously.

After that, the kiss came naturally, neither of them sure which one had initiated it, but both enjoying that it was happening. Coming apart was harder though, and it only got worse once Evelyn announced why she was there.

At first Cullen has found it ludicrous. They had arrived back just two days ago; how could she be thinking about leaving so soon? And all because of a spirit? Wasn't the Fade already full of them anyway? Why did Solas needed to race off so swiftly when he could easily find another spirit of wisdom with which to share stories?

In other circumstances, and if it were another person asking those very same questions, she would have grown angry, but she didn't with him, instead taking some time to explain to him why this was so important, and why that spirit had the same right as any other in Thedas to be rescued.

It was the mention of Cole that ultimately made him reconsider. As the months had stretched, Cullen had grown to understand Evey's fondness for the boy, and that made him realize why Solas' friend was that important to him. It was just such a foreign feeling, to care for a spirit. He had been trained to be wary of any mage whom befriended a spirit, and even more so to any presence of those creatures on this side of the Veil, so the whole concept was difficult to grasp for him. Besides, it was the fact that this new and unexpected mission meant he would have to part from her sooner than he had anticipated, considering her next journey was not due for at least another two weeks. Now, out of the blue, their time together had been reduced to a mere half hour, since even though she would not be gone for another three, she had to prepare her gear, and he the reports she would take with her on her way. It was bittersweet, the knowledge that she would be thinking of him and hoping to come back home as soon as possible to be together again (at least that's what her eyes told him, since he was not courageous enough to say so directly), while at the same time knowing that they would not be able to keep nurturing whatever it was that they had started the day before as long as they were apart.

Still, he couldn't stop her, and in a way he didn't want to. Her dedication to others and her duty had been one of the first things he had admired about her, and to thwart that now would betray both their ideals. Letting her go without more hindrance than kissing her goodbye in a way that would show her how much he would miss her without actually having to say it was all he could do. Even though it hurt him to do it, he understood, and with that last kiss, he prayed to Andraste and the Maker to bring her back home, and to him, safely.

oOo

The waiting was another beast entirely. Ten days came and went with little news. Only a couple of ravens with specific instructions on how to proceed with the most urgent matters that all three advisors had reported had come through.

The real problem came when, twelve days after they left, Solas arrived at Skyhold completely alone, looking for Evey.

That day, Cullen was training the troops in the yard, pairing the soldiers to face each other in the new sparring ring, so the moment Solas appeared in sight, he gave a few hastened orders and left to wait for Evey... but she never came. Instead, the elf walked right over to him with heavy eyes, and Cullen's heart stopped, fearing the worst.

When Solas then explained what had happened, things did not improve. Cullen had to muster up all his self control to not slam the elf against the nearest wall. How could he just _leave_ her? It didn't matter that she was still with Cassandra and Varric and that by now a complete platoon of Inquisition soldiers and spies must have arrived at the plains with Lieutenant Harding leading them. What mattered was that the elf had dismissed her as nothing, even when she herself had faced losses and emotional turmoil for all these months and _still_ had never abandoned them. There, with the elf clearly upset and emotionally drained in front of him, explaining how he had left the Exalted Plains at least five days prior, Cullen felt his blood boil.

In what proved to be a serious display of self control, he just grabbed the elf by his shirtfront, bunching the fabric in his fists and absently noticing that the elf showed no intention of opposing his wrath, almost as if he was already defeated or as if he was truly ashamed of what he had done, and asked the mage to pray to whatever deity he showed reverence to for her safety. If she came back wounded, or didn't come back at all, he would personally see that the elf regretted it for as long as he lived.

After that, and without even sparing another glance at the elf, he marched up the stairs and to the rookery, ignoring anyone who dared to try to interrupt him, determined to not lose another second.

When he got there, he couldn't find Leliana anywhere and with the increasing worry he was experiencing from the second he saw Solas' concerned look, he didn't spend too much time searching for her, walking instead toward her desk and scribbling a quick note. Then he got to the closest cage with the Dales' location on its tag and opened it to attach his note to one of the ravens, letting the bird loose a second later, praying once again that it found its target soon and that he would, in kind, have an answer about her wellbeing in just a few days.

When he departed, he had discovered a nasty wound on his index finger where the bird, a black one with a white feather on its breast, had bit him after he woke it up from its nap to assign him as his messenger without any warning whatsoever. Absently he remembered it was not the first time he had "borrowed" that particular bird. In the month Evey had spent in the Exalted Plains, he had also sent the bird without Leliana's knowledge when the news that the Inquisitor had taken Suledin Keep arrived, and again when he had to send notice that the Baron Edouard Desjardins was the elected commander of the new stronghold. It was not particularly his fault though; Leliana seemed to always be out when he needed her the most, doing only the Maker knew what. As a result of their constant missed encounters, he knew that with time, his obsession with that particular bird would probably be noticeable, but from the first time the bird did its job perfectly, he had preferred to play it safe and use the same one every time he needed it, making sure the raven's cage didn't have the red ribbon that signaled it had just came back from a mission, to prevent it from falling from exhaustion in its eagerness to do its duty.

Two days later, Cullen's messenger arrived to his office with a tiny, rolled and sealed piece of paper. He didn't need to ask what it was; he was not expecting any other raven message, and not even the pompous nobles write such small missives, so he knew it was from Evey, which was exactly why he took it immediately and began unfolding it, holding his breath. The first thing he noticed was the handwriting. It was the wrong hand, not Evey's but Harding's. In the note, the lieutenant explained that the Inquisitor was alright and that she would be informed about Solas' arrival at Skyhold as soon as she came back with the troupes. It didn't specify why she was with the Inquisition soldiers, but it was perfectly reasonable to assume that she had taken them (or at least part of them) to compensate Solas' absence.

He wrote an answer and raised his hand to ask the messenger to deliver it to Leliana when he noticed a woman entering, a cage with a raven inside hanging from her arm.

Before he could ask, the soldier spoke.

-Lady Nightingale sent you this, Commander. It's the one with a white feather on its breast.

-Why would she do that?- To say he was surprised was a understatement, and it manifested itself in his voice.

-She wants you to keep it, sir.

Cullen raised an eyebrow, completely at a loss.

-Really? She is giving it to me?- A part of him warned him that he should not trust this. Leliana was known to make pleasant gestures, only to strike when her enemies finally trusted she was on their side. Could this be revenge for entering her domain and using her winged messengers?

-She said if it's yours, you won't have to borrow it.- The last two words were said in a tone that told him everything he needed to know. Leliana knew he had been using her birds, and this one in particular, for his own correspondence. He never dreamt of hiding it from her. After all, the ravens entered the rookery from the ceiling once they arrived at Skyhold, and Leliana had made that particular part of the stronghold her own, but he never thought she would get so tired of his intrusions that she would relinquish one of her birds. She loved those animals! Again he feared backstabbing, but tried to ease his mind. Leliana would never do anything to harm him; they were on the same side. He answered his own reasoning with doubt in his mind, but decided to shut it off and act as if the gesture was as it appeared, one of goodwill.

-Please send Sister Leliana my thanks, and make sure this bird gets enough rest and food. In the meantime, please ask her if she can send this message to Harding back in the Exalted Plains.- The woman bowed and was about to leave when he added,- And take the bird with you! Even if she wants to give it to me, I lack the knowhow to take proper care of it. Anyway, I'm sure it would be more at ease in the company of its own.

He knew his own message was not necessary. Harding had been quite final in hers, but at the same time he knew the news of his missive would eventually reach Evey's ears, and he wanted her to know that he cared for her, and that he was thinking of her safety. And her return.

Five more days would pass before Cullen heard the call announcing the Inquisitor's arrival.

As soon as his duties allowed him to, he walked to the bridge that connected Skyhold's main building with his tower's and the battlements beyond, just in time to see Evelyn greeting Solas. Even with the platoon cheering and marching over the yard with the skull of yet another dragon that he assumed she had taken them to hunt, the first thing Cullen noticed was how her face morphed from complete worry to endless relief when she saw the mage was there waiting for her. They exchanged a few polite words, and then Evey surprised the elf by hugging him tightly and mumbling something close to his pointed ear that made him relax and smile over her shoulder.

When he released her though, he took her left hand delicately and asked something, his brow creased and his eyes clouded over again. She tried to dismiss him, but he insisted, and she finally acquiesced. Almost as if she could feel Cullen's eyes on her, she raised her head to the bridge, smiling broadly and brightly when she saw the Commander looking back at her. With a last word toward the mage, she walked to the battlement stairs, eager to get to him, especially after the way he smiled and subtly nodded toward his tower.

She wouldn't have a lot of time. Not after Solas made her promise she would go to the rotunda as soon as possible to take a look at the anchor. He seemed worried, but after fifteen days apart, one dragon, too many undead threatening both Celene and Gaspard's armies that still held enough of a grudge against one another to revel and keep the War of Lions alive despite the agreement they had reached in the Winter Palace, cleansing a Dalish burial site of a horde of demons, closing three particularly populated rifts, and especially witnessing how Solas grieved the loss of a friend corrupted by the ignorance and negligence of runaway apostate mages, and then killed said mages with his own power and wrath, she was in desperate need of some time alone with the man that was quickly turning into her savior, his arms her personal sanctuary.

There had been some good things from her travels, as always. The Inquisition soldiers were ecstatic to have slain their first dragon, much to her dismay for both putting them at risk and to be forced to kill yet another of those wonderful creatures for the good of the people who found themselves sadly in its path. Their organization had also gained another agent, an elf by the name of Loranil who had been at her side and hoarding all her attention, almost as if enraptured, ever since the Inquisition (or more specifically, Evelyn) had won the favor of the Dalish Keeper Hawen and the elf had been allowed to join them. But still, it had been by far the most tiresome and trying of their travels, and to make matters worse, the mark had grown increasingly unstable ever since Solas' spirit friend had departed from this world, only getting worse with each rift she closed, almost as if no amount of discharge could placate it.

Now the mark had been calm for the last 30 hours, so she thought it might be best to take a break before she locked herself alongside Solas to research a way to calm the power flowing in the palm of her hand besides releasing it to the sky. According to her friend, that strategy in this particularly circumstance could disrupt a calm area of the Fade just as easily as it could stabilize a rift.

Cullen was waiting for Evey in his tower, standing behind his desk, gripping the marquetry tightly to stop the lingering tremble in his hands, which had begun that morning when the lyrium requisition had arrived two days behind schedule. The number of templars in Skyhold was scarce, since Evelyn chose to seek out the mages, and most of them had left the Order just as Cullen had done, but did not dare to take the further step of cutting their lyrium leash, probably fearful that they'd go insane, useless, or worse, that they would die. Cullen was currently the only former member of the Templar Order in Skyhold to fight the lyrium withdrawal, but being the Commander of the forces, which the templars in part formed, he was tasked with inspecting the lyrium draughts upon arrival before he gave the order to Knight Captain Rylen to take his own dose and allow the distribution of the rest to the other former members of the Order. For Cullen, that was the hardest of his duties, but even though Cassandra and Rylen had insisted he relinquish that task to someone else, he had been adamant in doing it himself.

Partially, he felt he owed the deference to his fellow templars to provide them with what he knew was an essential part of them, at least until he showed them it was possible to break their addiction to the substance, and on the other hand, he fervently believed that assiduous contact with lyrium up close would build up his strength and tolerance to the song, even if it also meant having a terrible week afterwards. He was convinced that if he exposed himself to the presence of lyrium on a regular basis and managed to not only resist its calling, but also reaffirm his conviction to never take it again, he would be able to conquer his addiction. _That_ part he owed to her, too, and whatever they would build between them in the future. If he wanted this blossom they were growing together to be stronger in due time, she deserved to have the best he could give, and nothing less, and that meant a man who could leave his addiction far behind him.

But the process was trying, and after a whole morning of hearing the song of the lyrium calling for him, his veins lighting as if on fire at the mere smells of the substance in the air, he knew that what she would find once she entered that door would be far from his best. Still, he would try as hard as he could to fight it and show her how much he had missed her, and not how much his treacherous body craved the lyrium. No matter how marvelous the drink made him feel in the past, she surpassed that intoxicating head rush every time, even with just the light brush of her fingers, a flicker of her smile, a gentle kiss from her lips. And his body responded to her more vehemently than it ever had to lyrium. So much so, in fact, that most nights he had trouble falling asleep due to how awake his body was with her memory.

In a way, she was also an addiction, but one that made him stronger instead of bestowing him with only enough power to destroy him at the same time, poisoning him with each dose. She cured him, body and soul, and he had found on her lips an endless well of pleasure and comfort that, by some miracle, he had been blessed enough to enjoy. And he was not going to risk that for anything, not even for the rush of the lyrium flooding through his body, rendering him almost incapable of standing. She was here, and the strength that knowledge imbued him with rivaled the scourge of the damned substance.

With her steps coming closer to the door, he felt it again. His temples began to throb with the blood pounding through his veins at a rate that felt as if it wanted to punch its way out of him, if only to reach for the drug that had diminished in his bloodstream with each passing month since he gave it up.

She was walking through the door when he felt one of his fingers almost snap in half by the force of his grip, but her smile gave him an oasis to calm his thirst, and he plunged into it without a second thought, walking in long strides straight to her and taking her in his arms, only to plant his lips against hers even as she was trying to greet him with words. He didn't need words, he didn't want words, he wanted her, all of her that he was allowed to take right now. In fact, he wanted more, but only his self restraint prevented him from going further than pushing her against the door, melding his body (or rather his armor) against her pliant figure, desperately drinking in all the sensations she awoke in him.

With each passing second he felt more emboldened, perhaps for the sounds she was making, or maybe for the fact that every grace of her lips, every caress of her hands around his neck, and every flick of her tongue against his, felt as if he was pumping a new and more powerful substance in his veins, as if all of his foregone abilities and more were awakening again, making each sensation unique, stronger, more powerful and delightful.

She moaned, enthralled by his passion and what he was igniting inside of her, warming all her body and turning her into pudding in his arms. In that moment, she felt as if she would do anything for him, as if she could follow him to whatever extent he wanted to take in this welcoming. She felt her skin prickle, her heartbeat increase. She even felt the anchor sparking to life, almost as if in response to the emotions he was drawing out of her, sending a tingle through all her body, finding its peak on her left hand.

She leaned on the door and surrendered to his kisses, that were now covering her jaw and lowering to her neck, while Cullen growled like a predatory lion devouring his prey. And she was a willing prey, one that, in that moment of feeling the power of the mark and the sensations he sent crawling all over her body, wanted nothing else than to be consumed by him.

When they parted for a moment to take breath, he felt it.

For a single, fleeting moment, his mind came back to full clarity, enough for him to distinguish that this feeling had nothing to do with her, and all too much to do with himself. He was not only craving what she was, but how she felt. And it was not the feeling of her body, or her words, not even her kisses or caresses. It was mixed with lust and desire, yes, but what was driving him now was the unmistakable reflex of lyrium answering the call to magic, and responding in kind.

As soon as his mind had cleared, though, it fogged again, and with the only distant realization that they were all of a sudden surrounded by a green light, he acted purely on hard ingrained, merciless instinct.

He pushed her once again against the door, but this time with no finesse. He was wild, lost completely in a lyrium haze. Taking her left wrist and pinning it high over her head, he looked at her with fire burning in his eyes, and not the kind she was used to seeing, but one she had lit, however inadvertently. With a growl, he pressed instinctively against her body, forcing her to keep still and reaching for the remaining lyrium in his veins to smite her down, all coherent thought completely wiped from his mind and automatically reacting as he would with any mage, though no one was sure if templars could ever be effective against the anchor.

His system was almost free of all lyrium, his reserves close to depletion and his templar abilities practically gone, and later he would thank the Maker and his Bride that he had not been capable of wielding more power that could have severely wounded her. But some still remained, and it was enough to fight the dance of power in her palm that tried to emerge from her, doing more harm than good and colliding with the green spark of the anchor, bringing her to her knees as she wailed in agony and terror.

When everything became clear to him again, it was already too late.

She was on the floor, holding her hand, now flashing with green arcs of unknown magic even through her gloves, and her body was jerking in what almost seemed like convulsions. Cullen felt the characteristic tingle of the smite, and his heart dropped in sudden panic. His mind was still fogged, not sure of what had happened, but the sensations spoke to more than mere ardent and passionate kisses or caresses, his blood pumping irregularly, his temples burning, his heart aching with needles of pain whenever his body tried to pull the lyrium that it needed to keep prolonging the action and feeding his abilities, only to find it gone.

Cullen had done the unspeakable.

He had attacked her, he… he had... _wounded_ her.

She was now breathing heavily, as if her lungs could not be filled with enough air, no matter how she tried, her muscles burning and her limbs disconnected from her body, laying on her side in the same position she had landed in when she fell to the floor. The mark was livid, enraged even. It flared its power all over her in protest to what he had done, scorching her veins and seemingly out of control. And it hurt, oh Maker, it hurt, her wrist and chest paining her like nothing else ever had...

Until she raised her eyes to him.

Cullen looked aggrieved, but what he had done to her was a hurt that could not be disregarded. And she was not able to stand that look on his face, or the mark, for too much longer.

She fled for her life before he could reach out to touch her, ignoring his pleas as he called after her.

Run. Get away. Away from the pain, away from his eyes of fire, threatening to burn her alive.

For Cullen, seeing the sheer terror in her eyes, that primal fear when she looked at him like a halla trapped by a pack of wolves, hurt worse than any torture that demons or lyrium combined could inflict on him.

Only the times when he thought her dead had hurt as much.

And death was all he wished for himself in that moment.


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35: Tempestuous Times

Evelyn was asleep. She had been crying for close to an hour, half of which had been in dreams, repeating Cullen's name over and over with such pain in her voice that Solas felt the need to enter the Fade and dispel the spirits who had been replaying her highly emotional day while playing the parts themselves, drawn to her by mere curiosity, not realizing they were causing her mental anguish. Now she was calm, but her frown had not relaxed, though he knew for a fact that she was not having any nightmares whatsoever. He had made sure of that, placing her in a part of the Fade where she would be safe from the more aggressive spirits, in a sort of cocoon from which she would not be able to flee for the night, but would not need to, either. He rarely did that; being a dreamer himself, Solas would never trap anyone in the Fade and forbid them from wandering in what he considered the most inspiring place anyone could ever explore.

In the solitude of her room, he chuckled bitterly to himself. The irony of his thoughts did not go unnoticed to him, how trapping anyone such as Evey in the Fade to grant her some peaceful hours from her personal demons seemed justified, but somewhat wrong, and yet his past did not torture him as much as it should have. Maybe it was because those actions where necessary, or perhaps it was the fact that Evey had astonished him with a mind so open that she had changed his opinion on mortal capacity for higher understanding ever since he had taken the time to know her better.

Still, there was another possibility too. Evey had hugged him this morning, and had whispered in his ear that she would do whatever was necessary to never let him be alone again. He knew what had prompted that. Solas had observed her as she'd read the tombstones in the Fade, where their greatest fears in life were laid bare to them, etched in stone to mock not only their group but also the ones that had not crossed the Veil with them, showcasing plainly that, even in the Fade where he felt most at home, they could never truly be safe. The Nightmare Demon had done a fine job, and even though she never mentioned it before, he had known that she had taken careful note of each and every one of their fears.

He had to admit that the Inquisitor had become a caring companion, a loyal one too, and that even he had fallen for her engaging personality, placing her in a position no living person had occupied for a very long time. One of a real friend… What the future would bring for her, or their friendship, was yet to be seen. He was realistic enough to know that sometimes one was forced to choose between a person and the ultimate goal, and that, in his experience, the individual always lost.

Perhaps his newfound friendship with Evelyn was the reason he felt so much rage toward the Commander. Had he judged the man wrong? He had been so certain that Cullen was a man worthy of her, and then he had gone and done the unimaginable. Nobody else knew thus far save Dorian and himself. It was impossible to hide anything to do with her from the human mage, especially when she had dragged herself into the rotunda begging for Solas' help, just one level lower to where the Tevinter chose to spend most of his days. This time had been no different, and the moment she let out that pitiful whimper that instantly Solas had understood was meant to be his name, the Tevinter had leaned over the railing, asking what was going on, only to rush downstairs even before he'd received an answer.

The situation had been horrible, and for the second time, Solas blamed himself, just like he had done in the Western Approach, and not only for what he could never explain to her, that being the origins of the mark on her palm, but also because he had been so distracted by his own grief that he had let her convince him to wait a while longer before they could placate the power surging through her hand. Now, after hours of hard work and unrivaled concentration, they had managed to calm the anchor, and somehow, probably due to her emotional exhaustion, Solas had succeeded in deflecting Evey's questions regarding how he had been able to bend the mark to his will for the second time.

A knock on the door reminded him that, by this hour, Evey should be woken up to attend the War Council below. Even though he was not entirely certain that facing the Commander after what had happened was the best idea, the Inquisitor's sense of duty was so rooted in her character that he knew nothing, not even her obligation to address Cullen directly for the sake of her army, would prevent her from going.

The spirits save him if he let her sleep through it.

A muffled voice asked for the Inquisitor behind the door below and Solas walked down, careful to avoid the creaking stair boards along the way. He opened the door and held it slightly ajar, saying only:

-Go to the War Room. Tell the Advisors that the Herald will be joining them shortly.

If he had possessed any faith in a god, he would have begged for strength for Evelyn to face the man after what he had done to her. Instead, he closed the door silently and went upstairs to wake the Inquisitor.

oOo

-I have requests for information on your lineage from a few... interested parties at the Winter Palace.

Josephine's voice interrupted Evey's thoughts. It was not something out of the ordinary. Her advisors were accustomed to seizing these moments to discuss important items of the day, or personal matters, or even to tease one another from time to time when she was concentrating on the maps of Ferelden and Orlais, planning their next move or updating their troupes' positions or marking new settlements before the meeting officially began. Usually this didn't bother her, and she had at times enjoyed it when Leliana and Josephine had taken turns ribbing the Commander, almost as if they were trying to compete to see who could make him more uncomfortable or make his blush spread farthest. Off the top of her head, she remembered the one time when they had teased him about his hair and how he styled it to look that good, putting him on the spot when asking whether he put something in it to manage the characteristics curls that he always tried to hide. Today, though, their lighthearted conversation did not seem funny, and the mere fact that Cullen was present was weighing on her, but she was determined to try to ignore it.

-Andraste preserve me! Feel free to use those requests as kindling!- Cullen's voice seemed scandalized and even though she did not look up at him, she knew he was blushing furiously. She felt his eyes on her, almost as if he was ashamed that something like that had come up in this precise moment with her present.

-No! I shall take them,- the Spymaster volunteered. -I want to know who pines for our Commander. We can use this to our advantage.

In hindsight it was not strange for Leliana to both add more fuel to the fire and try to see if she could use this new revelation in their favor. Still, it didn't help. Even after what happened between them, Evey felt the need to take those requests and do exactly as the Commander had suggested.

-I'm not bait!- Cullen was clearly horrified by Leliana's idea, and perhaps if his tone had not insinuated that so obviously, he might have come out unscathed from this. But alas, he had talked before even considering how much of a source of amusement his reaction would be to both female advisors, and then he had to tolerate Leliana's quip:

-Hush, just look pretty.

 _Maker! As if he could look anything_ but _pretty,_ the Inquisitor thought, and immediately hated herself for it. The man had tried to smite her, for Andraste's sake! And yet his eyes had been a window to his complete heartbreak when she'd fled from his post, almost as if he had come to realize all too late what he had done.

No, she could not allow herself to think that way. Whatever she and Cullen could have had was now gone. He had shown quite clearly that he could not tolerate the power she had been unwillingly charged with, and she could not face the idea of him always being a potential threat to her whenever they were trying to make it work between them.

Still, that didn't mean she had to listen in on the various options he had to replace her whenever he felt like moving on, so she cleared her throat, effectively drawing the attention of the other three.

-Shall we begin?

Her tone came out more bitter than she had intended, and paired with the fact that she had not joined the women in their teasing, or not even at least chuckled with them as she usually did, made Josephine and Leliana look at her, their brows furrowed with worry.

-Is there something the matter, Inquisitor? You look rather pale.- That was Josephine's polite way of asking what in the Void was wrong with her.

-Just a headache.- She wanted to leave it there, and prayed to Andraste for the ladies to understand and not press any further, especially since she could see Cullen in her peripheral vision looking straight at her, but Leliana and Josephine were not of the same idea.

-We can leave the meeting for later in the day if you wish.- She should had felt grateful for Leliana's suggestion, but she knew it was more of a polite formality than a real option.

-No, it's not that important. Let us begin…- A particularly acute throb in her temples told her she was not fully recovered, and that made her think twice and rectify her statement. -Perhaps just talk about the things that can't wait, and glide past the less important ones?

-Certainly,- came Josephine's answer, already with her notepad and quill ready to gloss over the unimportant events and go straight to what was vital. -The first thing I should tell you, then, concerns one of your fellow Marchers.

-Oh?- Inwardly she wondered if that might have something to do with Caleb's desire to visit Skyhold, but then she realized her brother had written about that nearly two months ago, and even though she had happily agreed back then, they'd never actually planned anything specific. She also knew that her brother would never hide from her something that important and plan it with Josephine behind her back.

-Indeed. Three days ago, we received a messenger from the coast to the north. He was an envoyant from the delegation of Starkhaven posted near Jader's Docks. The letter he brought was from the Prince's hand himself!- She looked over her paperwork and handed over the letter, a beaming smile on her face.

Evey felt confused; they had already received a letter from Starkhaven in the past, and Josephine, though enthusiastic about it, had not been as keen back then.

-He requests refuge for his two hundred men entourage due to sudden storms keeping them from sailing home. I trust you remember the Prince writing to you some months ago?

-Of course,- was her careful answer. She was beginning to understand her ambassador's fervor and she was not sure she would like whatever machinations were turning inside Josephine's head. She feared yet another ball would be held, when she had not yet recovered from the last one.

-Perfect!- Josie almost squealed. Again it was all so confounding. Evelyn liked to consider her memory to be sound, so Josephine's joy for her recollection of the Prince was a bit too exaggerated. Something was brewing in here, and she feared it immediately. -The storms should not last too long and traversing over the terrain to reach Starkhaven would take him and his company months, so he has asked us to allow him and his men to take refuge in Skyhold, and in the meantime, take the opportunity to meet you in person.

 _Maker, why do you hate me?_ she thought plaintively. The last thing she needed after Halamshiral was another nobleman attempting to make her dance to the beat of his own drum. But she understood why this was important: Just like Empress Celene and Grand Duke Gaspard, Prince Sebastian Vael was a highly influential and powerful head of state. An alliance with his city would go a long way toward aiding their cause, and as such, she was obligated to do her best to charm him into a deal. Looking down to the war table and finding Starkhaven on the far right in the carved wood, she sighed in defeat.

-Very well. Invite him to stay for a time.

-I already have, your ladyship.

In any other context, admitting to have taken the initiative herself would have turned Josephine's usual confident tone into one of self reprimand, but this time, her zeal for pomp and circumstance seemed to vanquish any other feeling that did not involve an enthusiastic lilting.

-In fact,- she checked her notes again, -according to our calculations, he should arrive here by dawn tomorrow.- If she had raised her eyes to the Inquisitor, Lady Montilyet would have witnessed the complete dismay on Evey's face, knowing the respite she was planning had vanished without even giving her the chance to vote on it. At the last second, Josephine spared the briefest glances toward her and, observing how her face morphed from gloomy to angry, she quickly added, -I would have told you as soon as you crossed the gates, but your reunion with Master Solas prevented me from doing so. The messenger I sent to your room later was sent back to me with the letter unopened.

Was Josephine trying to blame this on Solas? It seemed like it, but she could hardly complain about it. The only one in that room besides her who knew what had truly happened upon her arrival was Cullen, and contrary to all the times they had supported each other against some of the more ludicrous plans from Josephine and Leliana, she was not going to ask for his input this time. No matter how big a hole his eyes were drilling into her head.

-Yes, I ask your forgiveness for that Josephine.- She rubbed her temples in the vain hope that it would lessen her headache. It didn't work. -Solas was acting in my best interest. The Exalted Plains travel disturbed the anchor more than usual.- Subconsciously, she lowered her eyes and rubbed her left palm with her right hand, feeling the dormant anchor below her glove and avoiding Cullen's pained expression when he lowered his eyes to the table in shame. -And so upon arrival, Solas and I were working to calm it.- She looked back at Josephine and Leliana and added in a tired tone, -Hence my headache.

-Are you sure everything is alright?- Leliana sounded worried, but there was an undertone that implied she was also wary of her losing control of the anchor again. The likeness of that combined with what had happened with Cullen before triggered Evey's rage.

-We made sure of that,- she answered Leliana, glowering at her spymaster's cautious stare. -I would never risk the people here; don't worry. As _unpleasant_ as it is, the mark is now dormant, for all our sakes.- The emphasis she purposely made on the word "unpleasant" was like a dagger to Cullen's heart, and the Commander actually flinched at the word, his pained gesture not even earning him a pity glance in his direction from the Inquisitor.

Leliana was not impressed, nevertheless, and the spymaster held her eyes with a stoic expression, almost as if calculating how much of a risk she was in that moment. Or maybe she was being paranoid, but whatever was the real reason, it made the atmosphere around them become oppressive and uncomfortable.

Seeing this, Josephine's political and mediator facets stepped out.

-Yes, well, going back to the task at hand.- This called both Leliana and Evelyn's attention, though it failed to take Cullen out of his pitiful trance. -Inquisitor... I understand the Royal Family and the Trevelyans have had dealings before, so I trust there won't be any problem with this summit. In fact, it may be a fortunate opportunity for you to make up for lost time.

Something in Josephine's tone sounded an alarm in her head. _Make up for lost time? Does she think we are long lost friends? Could Leliana's intelligence have failed Josephine that much?_ For a second she looked at her ambassador and, once again, felt that she was hiding something from her. Maybe if she burst her bubble now, she could eventually find out what was going on.

-I'm afraid that might be difficult, Josephine.- The alluded watched in rapt fascination, as if her refusal to do what she had suggested did not hinder with her plans at all. -As far as I can remember, we provided horses for House Vael, but it was usually the current Prince's father that came to our estate twice a year, and on the few occasions he was not alone, he came with his eldest son or his wife, so I never met Sebastian, though the loss of his family affected mine greatly.- She looked out the window, lost in thought. -The Vaels were truly beloved in our lands. I remember when the Ostwick Chantry dedicated a whole month of daily prays for the rest of their souls and asking for guidance for their younger son.- It had been terrible, she recalled. The Grand Cleric in Ostwick had personally attended to the prayers, and carried on the mass in their memory despite being terribly ill a week before and still recovering from the fevers. Evelyn herself had dedicated countless hours of prayer in the memory of the Vaels, for the Maker to punish their killers and aid Sebastian in that dark hour. That she didn't know the man personally did not obscure the fact that his family had been very close to hers, and that she felt particularly thankful for their involvement in her family's good fortune. Still, all of that was water under the bridge now, and no matter how much she had known his parents (which wasn't a whole lot at all) she could not say she had anything to do with the current leader of Starkhaven, so whatever it was that Josephine was planning was doomed to disappoint her.

-Anyway, as I said, I don't know a lot about the Prince.

To her surprise, it was Leliana who intervened this time.

-That's why you have us, Inquisitor.- She had that smile on her face. The one that always entailed she had an ace up her sleeve that she was not willing to show until the right moment.

-Precisely.- Josephine seemed momentarily gloomy by the news, or maybe the memory of the Vael family murder had played a part in that, but it wasn't long before she beamed again. The change in her attitude was so patent that Evey was able to pinpoint the exact moment where something clicked together perfectly in her head, making her cheerful all over. -I was hoping it wouldn't be necessary if you two were acquainted, but we wrote a detailed report about Prince Sebastian that will help you understand him better and, with any luck, forge a lasting alliance with him.

-The important thing for you to know now is that he comes from a very similar place as you,- Leliana's soothing voice added. -He was promised to the Chantry three years before you, though he is seven years older. Since then, he has dedicated his life to the Maker, and even after he returned to Starkhaven to regain his throne after the Kirkwall Circle rebelled, he remained a devout Andrastian and has pledged his life to the service of the Maker and His Bride.- The bard smiled, almost devilishly. -So, naturally, when he found out about you, he was eager to meet you.

Evey didn't like the purposely insinuating tone that Leliana used when she said "eager". She was about to press the matter further when she realized what the Spymaster had said.

-Wait! He was posted in Kirkwall when the mages rebelled?

-Yes, though by the time the rumors about Meredith going insane began, he was already reconsidering his place as a Brother of the Chantry. For six years, he worked both for the Chantry and as one of Hawke's associates, even if the latter was more out of gratitude and friendship than anything else. Hawke was, after all, the one who avenged the Vael's murders.

Evelyn raised her eyebrows in surprise, inwardly thanking Varric for bringing Hawke to Skyhold, since the Champion would be key in the hopes of forging an alliance between the Inquisition and Starkhaven.

-And that is why we strongly recommend you spend time with the Champion this afternoon to learn as much as you can about the Prince,- Josephine added, already weaving a web of connections between all her current allies and the ones that could come up from this visit.

That being as it may, there were more pressing matters to attend to if they were going to receive that many men in less than half a day.

-First, we need to discus more mundane things, Josephine, like where will we accommodate two hundred men _and_ a dignitary of his status.

The mere idea of the luxuries he and his nobles could request increased her headache. She only hoped that his years in the Chantry might have made him a man easy to satisfy in terms of accommodations.

-We thought about that as well,- Leliana tried to calm her worries. -The main bulk of his forces will stay at the bottom of the mountains next to the Inquisition army.- She briefly looked at Cullen who was not particularly paying attention to them, partially watching the Inquisitor carefully. When the Commander did not chime in, she continued, -It will be a good opportunity for them to exchange experiences and training methods. Of course, it is not requested that they join the training of our troupes, so you won't have any extra work Commander,- she said, leaning over the table to look at Cullen, who seemed to snap out of his thoughts when he heard his title. -In fact, Commander Fenris sent a few of their Captains to...

That was the end of Cullen's sulky attitude. As soon as Leliana mentioned the last part, he interrupted her, his eyes more alive than they had seen him in the last hour, when he had entered the War Room looking miserable.

-Fenris? As in the Tevinter _elf_ , Fenris?

Leliana smiled, as she always did when she knew anything before others.

-The one and only.

-And you say he won't be coming with the army?- At the realization of that, which seemed to take its time to sink in on Cullen's busy mind, he looked a little disappointed.

-Unfortunately no, he is in charge of Starkhaven's army, and considering his prince left their lands, he decided to stay behind.

Evelyn had no idea who this man was, though for some reason the name seemed to ring a bell, and absently wondered if he had anything to do with Cullen's past. She did not seem to be alone in her curiosity apparently, for Josephine asked what Evelyn, given her current situation with Cullen, would never have. After all, the less they talked, the better.

-You have an idea you want to share with us, Commander?

Cullen seemed lost in thought again, and Josephine's question took him by surprise.

-What? No, I was just thinking that his experience would benefit our men. Maybe they could've even learned something from him.- He rubbed the back of his neck, almost like a child who had been found doing something he shouldn't. -I've seen him fight. The man is deadly, even without his lyrium abilities.

That was the last drop, and Evelyn decided she needed to intervene if she wanted to have some answers. After all, she liked the idea of being at a disadvantage about this elf's identity in her own council even less than the notion of facing Cullen. Still, she didn't need to ask him directly, so she dropped the question in the air to whomever wanted to answer it.

-Is this Fenris a templar?

Unfortunately for her, it was Cullen who took it upon himself to enlighten her, raising his eyes in a perfect mimic of a beaten puppy with a slight glimmer of hope, trying desperately to not stumble with his own words.

-No, he is a former Tevinter slave. He has,- the Commander rubbed the back of his neck again, completely aware that the next thing he would say would bring their last disastrous encounter fully to mind, -lyrium etched onto his skin, and that grants him unique abilities.

Just as he imagined, the word "lyrium" and the memory of the "unique abilities" the substance could grant made her flinch, effectively drawing her sight away from him, her eyes cold as marble. That made him so nervous that he desperately tried to explain why he had been so excited about the prospect of the elf coming to Skyhold, not measuring the rest of his words, noticing the effect they had on her _after_ he had said them.

-I saw him rip a man's heart from his chest once, and not just as anyone with enough strength could. Rather, he... somehow he can get his hand inside you without even scarring the flesh.

By then, Evey was watching him with a painful expression, her eyes almost accusatory, as if she understood Fenris' abilities not because of his colorful description, but because not too long ago, she had experienced something similar by his own hand. That notion pained him surely as much as the elf ripping his own heart out would, and he lowered his eyes, trying to mend the damage he feared would be impossible to fix.

-But besides all that, he is a stunning warrior. He rarely uses his lyrium abilities that way. We could have used his advice on the forces' training.- He almost whispered the last sentence, which apparently sounded like disappointment in the ears of the others, and gave Evey the perfect excuse to keep the meeting going, trying fervently to not pay attention to her own pain.

-Josephine, is there any way we can invite Starkhaven's Commander, seizing the opportunity while the Prince is here?- She told herself over and over that she was doing this for the troupes, and not to give Cullen the opportunity he was craving.

-It would be difficult, especially with the storms but...- Up until then Josephine had been frowning, but just as the last time, her face suddenly lit. -Oh, I know! Perhaps when the seas calm again, we will have a small celebration to wish them a safe journey!- Evey could not repress the tiresome sigh and the roll of her eyes, resting them on Josephine afterwards. -Don't look at me that way, Inquisitor. _Not_ doing it would be unthinkable; he is the most eminent guest we have hosted at Skyhold, thus far.- She emphasized each of her words by pointing to her repeatedly with her quill. -Anyway,- she took note of something as the idea struck her, -I was thinking a four day celebration with sparring matches, archery contests and even a joust!- She actually squealed at this last item, as if it was the best idea she ever had. -We can invite Starkhaven's Commander as Prince Vael's personal Champion!- Honestly, right now Josephine looked too much like her sister, doing everything but clapping in her excitement.

Leliana, in turn, laughed of the last part.

-Sebastian Vael hardly needs a Champion, Josephine. Just ask Hawke.

Josephine's eyes grew as big as one of Sera's cookies. She was so scandalized that she dropped her quill over her notepad, spreading a large black stain over her notes.

-You can't possibly suggest...- She shook her head energetically, though Evey was not sure if it was to reject Leliana's idea or to shake the concept out of her head entirely. -No, unfathomable! He is a Prince! He cannot compete himself! He absolutely _needs_ a Champion!

In other circumstances, Josephine's desperation to maintain the proper decorum would have amused her, but now it just made her headache throb worse. Rubbing her temples ( _again!)_ without any improvement on her pain ( _again!_ ), she tried to dissuade her ambassador.

-Josephine, I don't have time for this. I have no idea how much this visit will keep me away from the road, and I can't just remain idle while Corypheus make the people of Thedas pay for my inactivity.

The Ambassador just looked at her and sighed heavily, as a mother would when trying to make her child see reason.

-Inquisitor, I know what you mean, but having Stakhaven's aid will help the cause greatly. Sebastian Vael is highly respected all over The Marches, and his influence has even reached Ferelden. He nourishes a cordial relationship with His Majesty King Alistair and Queen Elissa, and has already offered to lend a hand in our fight. We must not treat him like any other visitor we've received.

She knew Josephine was right, but the prospect of entertaining someone like Sebastian Vael did not sit well with her, especially not after what had happened with Cullen. She knew her Ambassador, and she was aware of what the Prince's visit would entail. She would have to spend hours a day with him, being absolutely adorable, and after how this morning began she was not sure she could stand it for a day, let alone many more.

Absentmindedly, she looked down at her left hand and rubbed the palm with her right index finger, her mind a tempest, so much so that she didn't hear Cullen's intake of breath when he saw what she was doing, the pain of seeing her doubting herself because of what he had done too much for him to stand.

Then the Inquisitor took a breath and raised her head high.

-How long?

Josephine hesitated for a second before she could answer.

-I can't say for sure. Perhaps a fortnight? A little more? It depends on the storms, my Lady.

She nodded absently and clenched her jaw. Her temples were raging now, but she didn't pay attention to it.

After all, Cullen's eyes on her hurt more than any headache.

-Inquisitor, are you alright?

-Yes, Leliana, I'm fine, it's just… this headache…- She sighed again with her eyes closed, and when she opened them, she looked straight to Josephine. -Alright, I give up; you seemed to have everything set up.- Josephine smiled faintly, nodding her thanks before Evey continued. -If there's nothing more,- she looked at the women and then forced herself to spare a glance at Cullen... and regretted it immediately. The intensity she loved about him was drilling a hole to her very soul. His eyes were ever an open door to his heart, and she hated how weak the pain she saw there made her feel.

She began to talk but her words got lost on their way to her mouth, so she cleared her throat and tried again.

-Th…then we should adjourn this meeting.

Both Leliana and Josephine picked up their things and began to walk to the door, not completely sure of what was going on, but both knowing that there was something else besides the headache that was bothering the Inquisitor. Still, the atmosphere strangely urged them to keep quiet, so they did that exactly, almost rushing to the door. Before they could get there, though, they heard Cullen speak:

-Inquisitor, if I can have a word with you in private…

Even though it was not appropriate, something in the way Evelyn clenched her hands on the letter from Sebastian that Josephine had given her made both women stop in their tracks.

-Is it urgent, Commander?- The Inquisitor was looking straight down to the paper in her hands, not even deigning to answer by looking at him, and her female advisors found this thoroughly odd. -Is there a problem with the troupes?

Cullen seemed taken aback by her answer and stopped in his attempt to get any closer to her.

-…No, not exactly,- he practically whispered.

Evelyn seemed to gain strength from his answer and, straightening her back again, she looked up to the Commander. Josephine and Leliana were at her back, so they didn't see the forced smile she placed over her features when she answered.

-Then I trust your judgment to solve whatever you need. I have to talk to Hawke and each moment is of the essence, so if you'd all excuse me…- She nodded once, and without even waiting for his answer, she walked right past them to the door.

The last thing Evelyn heard before she rushed to the common hall was Cullen's defeated voice.

-…Of course, Lady Inquisitor.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36: At the End of the Rose Petals' Trail

The following morning, Skyhold was in chaos.

An organized chaos, that is. One orchestrated by none other than Lady Josephine Cherette Montilyet. The Ambassador herself had woken her up at first light, all but prancing through her room accompanied by two servants, who helped her get dressed, and also a hairdresser, who pinned her hair up in a simple yet alluring style. The dress Josephine had picked for her, cut from a deep burgundy velvet and embroidered with golden thread, matched the time of year, and boasted an absence of sleeves, leaving her full back on display. When the hairdresser pleated a diadem filled with small leaves and golden flowers, she had to admit that the reflection in the mirror surprised even her. In contrast with the deep color of her dress, she wore just enough makeup to accentuate her eyes and lips, but overall the look was more natural than anything else. Before she left her room, Josephine completed the look by adding a golden belt with the Inquisition sigil on the front, which hugged her body perfectly and dipped in the front, forming a V that emphasized her hourglass figure.

She didn't know what would be awaiting her, though, until she went downstairs.

The main room had completely transformed. The accumulated rubble, usually swept out of the way in the corners since no one had the time or resources to clean it away, was gone, and even the dried vines that were still strewn over the fireplace, ascending a good fifteen feet above the floor, had been pruned. Also, the two remaining high scaffolds, which had troubled Josephine so much when they had used the main hall as a ball room in preparation for the Winter Palace, had been taken down. The place looked enormous with all the extra space, even with the addition of several more tables set out to compensate for the arriving men, two in particular almost screaming for attention and placed on the higher platform near the throne, the lower one where they usually ate moved right next to Josephine's office door. One was longer than the other, but both were grand, the one further up holding room for at least twelve people, but with chairs for only seven, all of them magnificent works of art that more closely resembled thrones than actual chairs. The other table was smaller, but long enough to allow each person freedom of movement without elbowing his or her neighbor. There were beautiful and more intricate chairs there than in the rest of the hall, though these were not as grandiose as the others.

Each chair along those tables had a small banner on the back, the symbols on them showcasing how much thought Josephine had put into all these arrangements. On the far left of the longer table, the first chair was draped in red colors, and had a closed fist inside a circle, the symbol of the Inquisition forces. Next to that, she found the twin cross keys on a golden background of Josephine's connections. At the opposite corner, the first banner was half dark and half light blue, the Seekers of the Truth's vigilant eye in the middle, followed closely by the grey raven of Leliana's spy network. All of these settings were for the founders of the Inquisition to sit, leaving the two chairs in the middle for Sebastian and Evelyn herself. Two of the three chairs remaining, those between Josephine and herself, were dressed in vibrant reds and sported Starkhaven's heraldry on them, though one of them was larger than the other, while the third, between Leliana's and what she assumed was Prince Sebastian's, was covered in black, proudly boasting the Inquisition sigil in what looked like the most ambitious work of embroidery that Evelyn had seen in her life, golden threaded floss displaying the all seeing eye on the hilt of Hessarian's sword.

The other table, in turn, also had banners draped over the backs of the chairs, and Evelyn identified all of them, mentally placing each of her companions in their corresponding places: Blackwall on the right head of the table, with the blue and white griffon banner of the Wardens and on the left end, Iron Bull with the Qun's white insignia over a black and red gradient. Along the side starting from Iron Bull's side, Dorian's chair had the dark green snake on the lighter green background for Tevinter, and next was Vivienne's, a light red banner with the mask of the Orlesian Empire rounded by the characteristic symbol of the Circle of Magi. This was followed by the Champion's assigned place, his chair's banner that of Kirkwall's dark layout with the city's golden sigil, appropriately situated next to Varric's chair, emblazoned for the proud Dwarven Merchant's Guild, which she just knew would delight her friend about as much as fifty stacks of urgent letters from said cutthroat Guild. He would probably feel compensated, though, by Josephine's thoughtfulness in placing him close enough to Vivienne, who he could pluck of juicy tidbits for his current story in progress while also being happily between Hawke and Cole. The Kid, as the dwarf affectionately nicknamed him, had in Varric a trustworthy friend, considering how well they got along, and Varric was one of the few (including Solas and Evelyn) who truly enjoyed the company of the Spirit.

Cole's banner, however, displayed an embroidered representation of the Black City, something that Evelyn thought was an unfortunate move on Josephine's part, considering how affected Cole had been by their ordeal through the Fade. Maybe, just maybe, if Evey didn't manage to hide it in time, whatever negative impact the banner might have on the poor kid could be reduced by Solas' calm presence at his side. Unfortunately, the elf's own banner had been designated to that of all the elven gods' sigils arranged in a single and convoluted representation. _Honestly, does Josephine not know those three at all?!_ At least Sera's chair, next to Blackwall's, did not have the symbol for the Dalish, instead dressed with a crimson red cloth that she assumed represented the Friends of the Red Jenny, or what Josephine had assumed was their sigil, since there was not a known banner for the underground organization. That detail, at least, guaranteed that they would not have to dine with half the table's occupants donning sour faces, reducing the number of uncomfortable companions to potentially three, depending on how Solas, Cole, and Varric took their personal sigils.

Those details aside, which she knew she would have to deal with sooner or later, the look of the Common Hall was utterly breathtaking, but the means to achieve that result worried her.

-Josephine, did anyone sleep at all, last night? Please, tell me you didn't keep everyone awake to do this,- she raised her arms as she gestured disbelievingly toward the main hall.

-Actually, the room was very much just like this, last night… Well, except for the two main tables.- The ambassador looked at her from the corner of her green eyes with a mixture of reproach and amusement, walking to the main entrance. -Maybe you would have noticed if you had consumed less alcohol with the Champion.

The clear reprimand paired with the fact that, almost as if on cue, her head throbbed with pain distracted her from the task of removing some of the banners. Evelyn rubbed her temples in clear distress.

-It wasn't my fault. Maker knows how that man managed to get me so drunk without me even noticing.- She looked around and spotted the door to the rotunda. -Which reminds me: have you seen Solas? Maybe he can help me with this blasted hangover,- she added, squinting her eyes at the sunlight pouring through the entrance.

-I daresay The Iron Bull would be more useful for that, Inquisitor,- Josephine answered as if they were only talking about trading routes.

-Ugh, don't even mention that. His hangover cure concoctions taste worse than darkspawn blood.- At this, Josephine turned to stare at her, completely terrified. -Don't look at me like that; I wouldn't really know. I just heard Stroud talking about it once.

The offhand mention of the deceased Warden immediately sent her mood plummeting down. They had come so far since the night when Hawke, Stroud, Varric, the Chargers, and Evey had shared drinks and laughs together that it almost seemed like another life entirely. Now even the thought of being as happy and without worry as she'd felt by the end of that night seemed impossible. She had tried so hard to achieve even the illusion of normalcy, but being the Inquisitor did not seem to go hand in hand with just being Evelyn Trevelyan. Every time she felt she was heading in the right direction and had managed to balance her personal life with her duties, all had gone sideways and she had ended up worse than before.

It happened at Haven, when they had finally settled and reached what looked to be stability at the time. Just as they were celebrating the closing of the Breach at the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, believing they were one step closer to victory, the Elder One had come to wake them from that hopeless dream, killing more people than she could ever forgive herself for losing. Then it had happened once again in the Western Approach, when after a hard battle and with all odds against them, the Wardens saw reason and joined forces with them to fight for a common cause, only to end the night mourning the loss of their superior, and the fact that, without him or any other warden of significant rank, they were a dying organization.

But the worst had happened recently, teaching her that thinking for herself instead of all of Thedas was a mistake to avoid, no matter how much she wanted to believe that being Inquisitor did not mean abandoning the idea of her own happiness and dedicating her life only to her duty. For once she had dared to be herself, and the burden of her position had fallen on her with such force that it had killed all possibilities of having any semblance of a normal life. The mark had cautioned her of this, growing furious with each passing day, but she had ignored it. Like a woman in love, she had become blind to the warnings and had rushed to live, if only for a brief moment, in the joy of being just Evelyn, and not the Herald. But the Inquisitor had stepped forward, and the mark had proved to her how wrong she was for harboring that hope. And with that, she had lost the only thing she'd ever wanted for her own: Cullen's love.

The sooner she realized that Evelyn Trevelyan was currently nothing more than leverage in political affairs hidden behind the Inquisitor facade, condemned to forever be in the margins of her own life, forgotten and unsatisfied, dreaming of a life and possibilities she might have had, the better. The woman in her had died the day she received this mark. She was nothing but the bearer of the anchor, the vessel to carry the power that could destroy Corypheus and save Thedas, nothing more. To expect more was nothing but an illusion that she would do well to forget, for her and the Inquisition's best interest. She was now an instrument, the weapon of this organization, trapped in the body of a woman but sentenced to be nothing but the former. And now, even Cullen was able to see that.

The moment she raised her eyes, spiraling toward despair, the perfectly timed entrance of the Commander into the main hall spurred forward the idea that, somewhere back down the road, she had severely aggravated the Maker, and now He was making her pay for it.

For a brief second their eyes met, and the look in his eyes almost killed her then and there. He looked tired, almost defeated, black circles under his eyes brought on by what she thought might have been a night of insomnia, and his overall skin tone looked almost sickening. His hair was styled as usual, though it didn't seem as if he had dedicated as much time and care as he usually did to it. The same could be said for the stubble on his chin and jawline, which was noticeably thicker, growing past the point he personally deemed appropriate for a man of his ranking.

Overall he looked miserable, but with any luck most would associate it with the latest shipment of lyrium and his struggle to control the cravings for it, and not with what had also kept her awake last night, causing her to lower her guard and drink more than usual, praying the alcohol would suppress her feelings. It hadn't worked. She had remained awake for hours upon hours, the alcohol only making things worse when, mixed with her inevitable tiredness, the line began to blur between this reality and dreams. Her emotions were toyed with all night, making her feel almost as if Cullen was truly with her in bed, kissing and worshiping her, only to morph into a zealot a second later, trying to destroy her as he accused her of being a demon and maleficar.

Yes, she could see that the Commander had suffered a sleepless night, but the reason for it eluded her. Maybe the lyrium was the rightful culprit here, and what had happened between them had nothing to do with his state. Perhaps he felt guilty about his insomnia being a consequence of doubting her ability to direct the Inquisition, and he had stayed up planning how he could gain control before she also went berserk as the anchor had done. There was also the possibility that he had been fearful of the consequences of what he had thought was a justified defense against a serious threat to them, even when said threat had been the very person everyone followed. Or maybe he had been tortured as much as she had been, now feeling just as empty and desolate, his heart responding to her proximity the same way her own was, thrumming away in her chest as if it wanted to reach out to convince him that what they had was worth fighting for.

Whatever it was, she didn't want to linger on it. And for once fate seemed to be on her side, for the moment he stepped closer to the two women, looking from time to time at Josephine, whom seemed to be asking Evey something without much success, a fanfare coming from outside called their attention.

-The Prince is here!

Josephine nearly screamed, her eyes sparkling with badly concealed emotion. Then, she clapped her hands twice, looking all around her and talking loud enough for everyone in the room to hear her.

-Listen everyone! The Prince is here! You all know what to do, and do not let the Inquisitor down!

By the end of her announcement, Evelyn was already past the foyer and on the stone landing, slowly walking down the stairs as Cullen's eyes followed her every step.

If the inside of Skyhold had called her attention, the outside left her speechless, and this time she was sure that none of this had been here the night before when she walked, or rather, stumbled back to the main hall to get to her quarters beyond that.

The yard was filled with new stalls selling many varieties of sweets and beverages, from sweet tasting juices to strong, spicy wines, and they were covered in festoons in a spectrum of colors and shapes that reminded her of a Fereldan market during the harvest festivities. In fact, on first glance she counted three cheese stalls with such range of selection that she wondered if they were going to receive King Alistair instead of Prince Sebastian.

Her best horses were on exhibit too, and there was one in particular that called her attention: a powerful Amaranthine Percheron mare that had come four months ago all the way from those lands for breeding with her Free Marches Ranger in the hopes of creating a "new and mighty race worthy of the Inquisition", as Josephine had put it. For her, it was complete nonsense; her Free Marches Ranger was extremely high born with a lineage as long and grand as her own, and he was perfectly trained to bring pride to the Inquisition, but she had to admit that Josephine had touched a sensitive nerve with the idea of breeding their own horses. She had grown up in that environment, after all. Her father had taught her all about it, and the idea of having her cocky but marvelous Free Marches Ranger impregnate the most elegant and powerful mare she had seen in her life, had been something she could not refuse. The mare was now situated in the middle of her other horses, right next to Evey's spoiled four legged companion, her swollen belly on display and growing heavier with each passing day despite being only four months along, as if the foal was trying to follow its father's example by trying to supersede him in bragging rights.

On the floor of the entrance were scattered rose petals that she feared to ask from where they had come and how much they'd cost, paving the road for his Highness to make an entrance worthy of his title.

Breathing heavily and ironing imaginary wrinkles on her dress with her hands, Evey walked down the stairs that separated her from the first landing where Hawke and Varric were already waiting for her, followed closely by her three advisors, Leliana having joined Josephine and Cullen sometime while she was still admiring the courtyard's new look.

When she stood next to Hawke, the Champion peered at her from the corner of his eyes, grinning devilishly, and after a few seconds raised a hand to her temples, making her turn towards him with a puzzle look.

The healing magic was like a balm, spreading through her head and down her body, melting away all aches and, most importantly, the insistent headache, consequence of an ill advised night with the indulging mage. The moment the blue light touched her skin she felt at ease, sighing heavily with relief and opening her eyes again to look at Hawke as if he was sent by Andraste herself, blessing her with his holy touch.

She hummed, delighted, and smiled at Hawke.

-Maker, thank you!

-Now, now, don't rob me of all credit! The Maker had nothing to do with this; it was _my_ magical touch.

He said it in a tone that somehow came off as suggestive. By now, Evelyn was familiar with Hawke's flirtatious nature, but that didn't mean she condoned it when it was directed toward her. Besides, Cullen was directly behind her. She could practically _feel_ him glaring at the Champion, and even after what had happened between them, she was not one to indulge in casual flirting after a breakup so recent.

A voice inside told her it was not _technically_ a breakup, and that hadn't allowed him to explain what had happened on his end, so therefore they were not actually separated.

Desperate to shut her thoughts down, she looked at Hawke with a mixture of sarcasm and perfectly believable enjoyment.

-Oh? Should I also grant you merit for last night's overindulgence?- The mage opened his eyes and appeared affronted.- Admit it, Hawke, you're only cleaning up your own mess here,- she added, pointing to her once sore head.

The alluded kept the indignant pose for another moment, only to fall again into his more coy and sarcastic facade a moment later.

-I never forced you to drink, your Worship, and it's not my fault you failed to notice whenever I refilled your glass.

Varric's laughter filled the stair

-He's got you there, Trevelyan!

She smiled at the two, trying hard to ignore Cullen's subtle grumble behind her, instead forcing herself to focus on the sound of hooves coming from the entrance.

Josephine then nudged her on the small of her back, silently indicating that she should by now be downstairs waiting for his Highness on the other side of the courtyard, at the end of the flower petal path. She did as she was bade, Hawke and Varric accompanying her.

With just a few seconds to spare, the six of them stepped to their assigned places before another horn announced Starkhaven's representatives entering the draw bridge, the bustle of hooves growing louder once the horses began trotting over the wood.

Each step made the knots in Evelyn's stomach tighten another notch, especially since Hawke and Varric had left her side to make room for Josephine and Leliana, allowing for Cullen to step behind her and consequently frazzle her nerves altogether at his proximity. Maker, she was almost certain she could feel his breath on her hair and his warmth reaching her exposed back, even through the thick metal layers of his armor. The sun did not help either; Cullen looming behind her meant that, so long as they stood in this position, she would be enveloped by his shadow. It was as if he was trying to draw her to him, or protect her in some way. This was definitively not helping her forget how good it had felt to let herself go in his arms, her face hidden in his torso while he kissed the top of her head, holding her as she hummed happily.

When the group passed by the drawbridge and officially entered Skyhold, the hoof sounds altered from the hollow and deep clicks on wood to the clack of the horses over the stone, and the Inquisition was regaled by the first glances of the Prince's retinue. Before Evelyn even bothered herself to try and recognize Sebastian Vael among them, she shook her head and sighed heavily, trying to dispel the haunting memory of Cullen's arms and soft kisses from her mind and heart, stepping instead into her role of Inquisitor and, furthermore, daughter of Noble House Trevelyan. Cullen's sudden intake of breath behind her did not make things any easier.

Trying vigorously to ignore her Commander, and even the idea that she still thought of him as "her Commander", her eyes began to search for the Prince amongst the group right at the same moment the first line of soldiers opened, leaving room for three horses to step ahead of the rest.

One of them was a familiar face, though she'd be lying if she said she had ever seen Knight Captain Rylen so excited in the five months she had known him. The former templar was speaking to the Prince with what Evey could only describe as a ridiculously huge grin, pointing toward several areas inside the keep and calling Sebastian's attention each time. As they entered the courtyard, though, Rylen's finger pointed directly at her, effectively taking her breath away at the suddenness of the gesture and the intense blue eyes that followed the Knight Captain's hand to rest upon her, those eyes not even caring that the enthusiastic man at his side was already trying to divert his attention to another place of interest. Sebastian, in turn, smiled at Evelyn when he noticed her looking back at him, nodding gently in greeting, almost as if they were long lost friends or had shared some unknown secret.

The moment was lost effectively when Josephine seized the mere half minute that it took him to reach them to whisper last minute advice.

-Don't talk first; it would be rude. Let him be the one to greet you.

Evelyn would have rolled her eyes if it weren't for the Prince deciding that he wanted her full attention, adamant against releasing her from his strong gaze. That left her with only the option of whispering back at Josephine without looking at her.

-He is not my Prince, you know.

-Please, Inquisitor, you did not object when I asked you the same with Empress Celine.

-I _did_ object, you just didn't _listen_.

Behind her, Hawke snorted.

-He doesn't bite, Ambassador. On the contrary, actually: he is quite docile. Like a puppy with a fondness for bows... and Andraste's belt buckles.

- _Hush_ ,- was Josephine's answer to Hawke's borderline blasphemous commentary. And it was not a minute too soon, since the moment she shushed him, Prince Sebastian Vael was taking his first steps inside Skyhold's lands after gracefully hopping down from his horse.

The man was the epitome of a Prince, clad in a deep blue doublet, leather brown pants, and a traditional fly plaid in blacks and reds covering a great part of his chest and right shoulder, a pin holding it in place at heart's height that reminded her of the famous Andraste's belt buckle that Hawke insisted used to "guard Sebastian's modesty in a rather scandalous way". This rearrangement in the location of the holy prophet's representation was certainly an improvement, and it showed the Prince's devotion for the Maker's Bride in a much more moderate fashion. His hair was tousled, allegedly due to the journey up the mountain, and was surprisingly devoid of a circlet or crown, probably a way of showing his men that below his rank still laid a man, not different from any of them... Or at least that was her best guess, considering what Hawke had told her about Sebastian's personality. Overall, she had to admit the Prince looked amazing, and the fact that he wasn't wearing full armor displayed trust in his men along with his faith in the Maker to watch over his safety.

Unfortunately, Josephine's suggestion turned out to be for naught, and provided Hawke with something to laugh about for the next month, when the Prince stepped in front of Evelyn, bent his body nearly at a perfect right angle while bowing his head as well, one hand on his lower back and the other on his abdomen. The Inquisitor, though bowing in time with him, remained quiet while he watched her with a puzzled look. Finally, the former Brother of the Chantry seemed to realize what was going on and mercifully nodded once again while greeting the Inquisitor for the first time.

-My Lady Inquisitor, it in an honor to finally meet you.- His brogue and voice provoked more than one poorly veiled longing sigh from the women watching the scene. Evelyn, for her part, was grateful that the Prince had chosen such a greeting, leaving aside the usual adulations that characterized most noble men, and had her garnering far too many "I see the stories of your beauty do not do you justice" over the years each time her parents presented her to some highborn simpleton.

Instead, Sebastian gallantly took hold of her hand and, bending slightly, kissed it sweetly, glancing at her from below with a confident and amused look on his face. The fact that the Prince had chosen her left hand, where the anchor rested dormant below her glove, instead of the right one, did not go unnoticed to her.

Cursing the implicit rules of noble ranks all over Thedas, and Josephine's compulsion for following them, therefore causing the most embarrassing moment she had experienced in her life since the time Caleb hanged her first breast band in the soldiers' archery practice range on her father's estate, Evelyn donned her best smile and welcomed him.

-You Highness, the pleasure is ours. Welcome to Skyhold,- she said, bowing like the perfect lady she was, her hand still joined with his.

Sebastian lowered her hand, but did not release it quite yet, instead giving it a soft squeeze.

-Please, my Lady, I trust you will grant me the pleasure of calling me by my given name, and leave the formalities behind us.- Only then did he release her hand.

She was sorely tempted to look at Josephine upon this request, mainly because she knew that if she agreed, Evelyn would have to listen to her ambassador rant about it for as long as was deemed appropriate without offending his Highness, leaving him alone in another room while she berated the mighty Inquisitor like a toddler. And also because she was sure her ambassador was trying extremely hard not to choke on her own breath, if the sudden gasp she heard was any indication.

Instead of acquiescing to that, she decided to smile radiantly and even allowed herself to appear slightly bashful when she answered, though she lacked the ability of other noblewomen to blush on cue.

-I think that is a fantastic idea, Sebastian.

The Prince's smile grew at her bold enthusiasm at leaving all formalities aside. Inwardly, he rejoiced in the fact that Lady Trevelyan seemed as charming and accessible as all his informants had told him. Before he had time to analyze it further, though, the Inquisitor stepped to the side and began the required introductions.

-Allow me to present you to my advisors,- she said, gesturing a trained hand toward the woman who had been close to fainting mere seconds ago. -My Ambassador, Josephine Cherette Montilyet.

She paused for a moment, allowing Josephine to bow, hoping to keep moving afterwards, but was surprised to see Sebastian nod and take Josie's hand as well, kissing it as he had done with her own.

-Oh, yes, ambassador! It's nice to finally put a face to your kind letters. I owe you my thanks for arranging this stay. Surely it was divine providence that made us contact you once again.

Contrary to Evelyn, Josephine did indeed blush... a lot. Almost breaking character and accidentally letting an obvious giggle to slip past her lips for the ghost of a second.

-You need not mention it, your Highness. It is an honor to have you here with us. I trust your journey was pleasant?

Evelyn almost laughed at this. Josephine was talking as if the Prince had traveled sitting on a padded seat in a luxurious carriage instead of riding for hours through the mountainous terrain, an experience that, even if not downright unpleasant, was not precisely the most lavish of all the activities a Prince might indulge in.

Sebastian, of course, was a perfect gentleman, and answered in kind.

-The view was breathtaking, and the company of your soldiers who escorted us made the trip much more enjoyable.

When Sebastian ended his statement, Evelyn rushed to continue, lest Josephine answer back and they remained stuck here for hours making endless small talk, which they all knew the ambassador was fully capable of achieving.

-And this is our Spymaster, former Left Hand of the Divine, Sister Leliana,- she introduced the woman, who was kindly bowing to the Prince.

Leliana was not as meek as Josephine and skipped all protocol, talking first.

-We met briefly some years ago in Kirkwall, though I would not blame you if you didn't remember me.- Her smile was radiant, and still Sebastian answered with one that mirrored hers perfectly.

-Of course I do. You warned us about the peril Grand Cleric Elthina was in, for which I will always be in your debt.- He bowed once again, but for the first time since his arrival, Sebastian's smiled faded.

-I'm sorry I could not do more to save her.- Leliana's voice sounded truly moved, and Evelyn remembered that Hawke had told her how much Sebastian had loved Elthina, how he had mourned her greatly when Anders destroyed the Chantry with her still inside.

-Her Grace died protecting her flock. That is what she would have wanted… No matter how much it pained me to see her depart, she is now at the Maker's side.

They fell into a reverential silence, and after such a topic of discussion, Evelyn couldn't do anything but to respect that quiet moment of contemplation. She understood his pain, but through Hawke's tales, she had also come to see Anders' plight, and even though she would never condone his actions, she felt sorry for the mage then. The fact that the only advisor left to introduce was Cullen, who had been carefully watching the proceedings unfold in front of him, did not make this any easier, either.

After a moment, Sebastian glanced back at her again, wordlessly inviting her to continue with her introductions, his smile back in place and silently reassuring her that there was nothing wrong with circling back to the lighter mood they had abandoned before Elthina's memory.

-And… this is Cullen Stanton Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition Forces.- She could have easily added his former title of Knight Captain of Kirkwall, but she trusted that it wouldn't be necessary. If Sebastian had remembered Leliana, Cullen would certainly not be a stranger to him, either, since Hawke seemed to have had many dealings with the templars when the Prince was a member of his entourage. At the same time, she desperately didn't want to be the one to throw salt on the wound that was Kirkwall for Cullen. It would be inevitable with Hawke and their former association, but she didn't want to be the one to bring that up, knowing how much pain it brought the man.

-Yes, of course, I remember him well from my days in Kirkwall,- he said to Evelyn before turning to Cullen and clasping the other man's hand firmly. -It is good to see you in fine health, Commander.

Cullen bowed stiffly, the words the Prince chose not amusing him. Did Sebastian really not notice how diminished his pallor was this morning? Was he mocking him? Or had he said it in an attempt to sound friendly and educated? Either way it felt terrible, like he had swallowed a bitter potion that was doing nothing to soothe his pain, even adding to it. Still, he knew his place, so he saluted, bringing his heels together with his arms alongside his body in a perfect military gesture. Sebastian might not have been a soldier when they'd met, but he was now the head of a city state, and as such controlled an army, rendering him a similar rank to any other military superior Cullen could imagine.

Besides, to do anything but his best now would lead him to an unending speech about propriety and rank hierarchy from Josephine, and with the intense headache he was already nursing, he wanted to avoid that at any cost.

-Your Highness, welcome to Skyhold. I trust your men have found everything they need in the lands we assigned for them.- He briefly shot a glance toward Rylen as he spoke, to which the Knight Captain answered with a nod and a salute to his Commander, similar to how he'd just greeted Sebastian.

-Yes, thank you. Though they are eager to train with your men. They've been buzzing about it since we parted from Jader.

-I shall arrange it, then. I'm sure my men would be honored to train with yours.

Perhaps Cullen or Sebastian would have added something more, but Hawke's voice stopped them.

-Yes, yes, we are all _very_ honored to bear witness to this, but I'm personally offended that you've been standing there for nearly a year now and you haven't even asked for me.- While joking with his old friend, he had rounded Cullen and was now standing a few feet ahead of him at Sebastian's side, looking at the Prince with a trace of delight beneath what was meant to be an affronted expression.- It's that kind of attitude that really grates on our annual group reunions, you know.

Sebastian's lilt let escape a sincere laugh, and he rushed to counter Hawke's quip.

-And here I thought it was your self imposed exile that had prevented all of us from meeting up again.- Hawke chuckled at this while Sebastian rushed to clasp his hand, drawing him closer to slap a hand across his back, the Champion doing likewise. When they drew apart, they kept squeezing each other's hands for another moment in the kind of greeting only good friends could exchange after a long absence. -It's great to see you again, Hawke, and you as well, Varric,- the Prince added, turning to clasp the dwarf's hand who had stepped over just after Hawke decided to make his presence known.

-Welcome, Choir Boy!- Once again, Josephine could barely suppress a shocked gasp at Varric's familiarity. With anyone else, the matter would have been left there, but Varric was not going to let it go that quickly. -Oh, relax, Ruffles! You'll burst a blood vessel if you keep worrying yourself like this.

Evelyn chuckled both at Varric's commentary and Josephine's scandalized glare, but still tried to give the poor woman a moment's peace, reacting as was expected of her. Before she could ask the Prince to follow her inside, though, a man at their back cleared his throat, trying to call their attention.

At this, Sebastian turned and raised a hand to open the way for the man.

-Forgive me, Adair.- Then he turned toward Evelyn and took her hand, gently pulling her one step closer to him and the newcomer. -Lady Inquisitor, allow me to introduce you to Adair Gallach, my personal Advisor and Ambassador of Starkhaven.

Evelyn had been fortunate enough to meet the former Arl of Redcliffe, Eamon Guerrin, while traveling to Denerim with the Chantry. It had been around three years since he had passed the arling to his brother, Teagan, and the man had left a marked impression on the Chantry committee, but for Evey, it has been a delight to meet him. He had the experience and wisdom of a man who had been in power, but the temperance and pensive demeanor of one who had left his duties in capable hands to pursue a life of contemplation, taking pleasure in the simple things in life such as his devotion to the Maker and his adoration for his wife and son, without losing sight of his duty toward his brother, the new arl, and of the people of Redcliffe and Denerim who allowed him to lead that life comfortably and in peace. Due to her position as a noble and servant of the Chantry, she had had the pleasure of exchanging more than one conversation with the man. His serenity and understanding nature had helped Evelyn during a difficult point in her life, where duty and affections pulled her in different directions, far away from her family for longer than a month for the first time in her young life, yet her obligations opposing the need to have them close again, leaving her heart a complete mess and threatening to render her entirely useless to the Grand Cleric and the Chantry itself. Even though they only shared a brief window of companionable time together, Eamon had helped her discover a sense of peace in that maelstrom that had become her life, calming her and pointing her in the right direction. It had been a few short exchanges, but even in those moments and under such circumstances, Eamon had provided her with the paternal advice and support she had needed, making him unforgettable, and the recipient of at least one letter a year, wishing him good health and letting him know that she would never forget how much he had helped her.

Seven years, and a world of experiences later, for the first time, someone else now struck her as a similar breed of man. Adair Gallach had Eamon's same serenity, and exuded wisdom with every move he made. He clearly treated Sebastian as a father would his youngest son, and he seemed sincerely attached to the Prince. He sported a heavy beard and calming blue eyes, several hues darker than the Prince's. His skin was also a few tones darker, and even though his attire was impeccably tailored, Evelyn could see the tan lines on his neck that suggested most of his coloring was due to long hours in the sun, though how a diplomat had been so exposed to the sunny weather outside a castle was beyond her.

Evelyn took to the man immediately, though life had taught her that appearances could be deceptive and, against her instincts, she reserved her opinion of Starkhaven's royal ambassador until she had the opportunity to get to know him a little better. Still, caution did not equal impertinence, so she nodded her head and offered her hand to the ambassador, donning her best smile. The man took the hand and kissed it gallantly as she greeted him.

-Ambassador Gallach, welcome to Skyhold. We are happy to have you all here.

If the man was going to add something, Josephine didn't give him the opportunity.

-Adair! Welcome! I am so delighted you decided to come instead of staying behind with your troupes.

Evelyn was mildly confused at this. How could the ambassador possibly stay behind when he was also Sebastian's counselor? Certainly something as important as the first meeting between Starkhaven and the Inquisition was not an unimportant event for the Prince, was it?

-I'll say it wasnae easy. Old habits die hard, but duty must rise above, ye ken. Besides, I trust Artair will do a fine job in the Commander's absence.

Now she was completely perplexed. What did all of this have to do with his role as ambassador _and_ advisor to the Prince?

Luckily Sebastian was a keen observer, and noticed her uncertainty before she made a fool of herself.

-Adair was the previous Commander of my forces. He left Fenris in charge when he deemed he had nothing new to offer my troupes. Artair is his son, Fenris' current Captain,- he clarified near her ear, the Prince's velvety voice heavily charged by his brogue.

The explanation took her by complete surprise, and to top it off, Sebastian leaning over her shoulder, almost whispering in her ear, made her clench her teeth and blush furiously. Unfortunately, she was not able to stifle her flush before the Prince came around her again, rewarding her with a knowing, almost smug smile.

She took a small step to the side, returning the odd smile, but making sure to widen the gap between them. In the meantime, Josephine and Adair had been relentlessly battling to prove which one was better at making idle conversation, and both seemed quite enthusiastic in their endeavor. Of course, it was perfectly plausible that the man was only being polite, and was unable to deny Josephine when she was so obviously excited about their visit.

-Josephine, I hate to interrupt, but the gentlemen are probably exhausted from their trip. Might we take this inside and show them to their accommodations?

The Antivan looked ashamed and rushed to agree.

-Yes, of course! Forgive me, my lords. Please, come right this way!


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37: Loss of Appetite

By the time they reached the top of the main stairs, Evelyn was quite confident that she knew (or at least could imagine) all the items on the agenda Josephine had prepared for the rest of the morning. She had seen the rearranged furniture, the assigned chairs and dining tables, and she could smell the tantalizing aromas coming from the kitchen, so it was safe to assume what was to be expected.

She was wrong.

For starters, she had planned to take Sebastian and Adair to their respective rooms to give them time to rest and perhaps bathe, even though by all accounts she suspected they had done exactly that in the camp at the bottom of the Frostback Mountains. Josephine, however, had another idea entirely.

When Evelyn and Sebastian walked into the main hall, there was a fanfare coming from the back of the room, where a humble but well tuned orchestra had started up. It was, at the very least, embarrassing to receive such unaccustomed attention in this manner, and Evey was tempted to run to her rooms and hide there until all of this was over. She had to admit the timing and imagery was perfect: The Inquisitor entering her fortress with the Prince of Starkhaven holding her arm in a chivalrous gesture, both dressed in their best finery and readying themselves for their first meal together. But it was nothing in comparison to pretty much all the people living in Skyhold clapping and smiling at them in perfect unison, flawlessly synchronized to the drop of huge banners from the first floor with Starkhaven, the Free Marches, the Chantry, the Inquisition and the Trevelyan's crests, all of them dressing the hall with their combined colors and insignias.

Completely surprised, Evelyn looked first to Sebastian at her side, who was candidly smiling and admiring Josephine's work, only for him to turn and look at her when he felt her eyes resting on him, and smiling even more warmly before he nodded in thanks for all the effort the Inquisition had gone to for their welcoming ceremony... Or so she assumed.

Then he repeated the expression in kind to her advisors and friends at their backs. Leliana had the same enigmatic smile she usually wore, Josephine was beaming and purposely ignoring Evelyn's accusatory stare, and Cullen was frowning at the hall as if it offended him, resting his eyes briefly on her only to nail them squarely in the back of Sebastian's head a second later. Behind them, Hawke and Varric were almost choking from laughter.

-Is this some sort of surprise wedding? Should I have brought a gift?- Hawke smirked, and the mage's quip only made her blush more intensely, while Varric chuckled and added more fuel to the fire.

-Knowing Choir Boy, a prayer would suffice.

Hawke grunted at this.

-I knew it was too good to be true.

If looks could kill, Hawke and Varric would have probably been dead by now, considering the way Evelyn was glaring at them, not to mention how Cullen's jaw tensed.

At her side, Sebastian only shook his head, as if he was babysitting two problematic children, which was not too far from the truth given the personalities of those two, and softly nudged her side when their audience finished cheering, walking calmly to their table where unending delicacies were waiting for them.

When they reached the table meant for her inner circle, listening at how the people of Skyhold took their places in front of their chairs at their tables and yet still not sitting, Evelyn stopped in her tracks and untangled her arm from Sebastian's.

-Allow me to introduce you to my colleagues, Serah.- Sebastian smiled at the Free Marcher term, as well as the fact that Evelyn had chosen the one that was used for someone of equal status instead of the less obvious Messere that anyone, including her ambassador, would have preferred.

One by one Evelyn introduced all the members of her inner circle, holding her breath when Sera's turn came up, fearing the elf would decide there had been enough formalities and call Sebastian "Lord Fancypants" or "Prince Pisshead", but to her utter disbelief Sera just grunted and nodded begrudgingly when it was her turn to greet Sebastian, the biggest offense only being not to answer when he reached his hand out to take hers and kiss it, as he had done with Vivienne. When everyone was introduced, Evelyn left for their table, where Cassandra was waiting them.

-You Highness,- she greeted Sebastian as soon as he was within earshot, and displayed an impressive crimson hue in her cheeks when the Prince bowed and kissed her hand, recognizing her immediately.

-Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, it is an honor to finally meet the Right Hand of the Most Holy. When our beloved Divine left us, I prayed that the Maker would guide yourself and Lady Leliana, to overcome the chaos that fell on your shoulders and light the path for those who sought to protect Grand Cleric Elthina when Kirkwall rebelled, for which, as I told Sister Nightingale earlier, I will be eternally grateful to both of you.

Once again, he bowed before her in complete silence, Cassandra fighting to find the proper words to reply to his sincere declaration. She didn't find them, and after a few uncomfortable seconds in which the Seeker only nodded and bowed profusely, Evelyn led Sebastian to his place, where he turned in time to pull out her chair to see that she sat before him, like a perfect gentleman, while Ambassador Adair walked behind him and sat at his place.

As she was doing the same, she heard Josephine's voice, mumbling as she passed by Cassandra.

-" _You honor me, Your Highness. Please let me know if I can do anything to improve your stay,_ "- she said, not even trying to mimic Cassandra's voice, instead sounding absolutely outraged. -Was that really so difficult?- Then she sighed, as if exhausted.

Cassandra once again remained silent and, contrary to what most would have expected, she did not shoot an angry glance at the ambassador, choosing to stare at her empty plate instead, fighting the blush that was thankfully receding.

Almost as if the servants were attentively waiting for the moment when Evelyn and Sebastian took their seats, around six different people descended upon their tables with trays of food, while a dozen more served the rest of the tables, their steps drowned out by the sound of all the people in the main hall sitting on their chairs once they were sure the Inquisitor and her guests had done the same.

Evelyn had never had a complaint about Skyhold's cuisine. Few people actually did; even Dorian and Vivienne enjoyed the delicacies that were usually served when they were not traveling, but today the cooks had outdone themselves. Again, Evey feared none of them had had enough time to rest, and instead had been awake all night preparing this colossal amount of food on such short notice. Even if they had begun the night before, the quantity was still astronomical. Discreetly, she tried to look at Josephine, but the ambassador seemed to be purposefully ignoring her, probably anticipating what she was going to ask. In hindsight, maybe she should have paid attention to the Inquisitor, but by the time she did, it was already too late.

After the staff left the table filled with more food than she would have dreamed, a girl of no more than fifteen years stepped forward to fill her and Sebastian's glasses. The Prince thanked her charmingly, and the blushing girl moved between them to serve Evelyn.

That's when the Inquisitor spoke.

-Hattie, why are you doing this?

The girl stopped her movements, a few inches away from Evelyn's glass, and looked at her with a mixture of amazement and complete embarrassment. She seemed overwhelmed by the fact that the Inquisitor knew her name, and stammered through her words.

-The Lady Ambassador told us about the Prince's arrival,- she whispered, glancing briefly toward Sebastian, completely ashamed and worried that discussing him practically in his presence would be disrespectful. -We volunteered to help.

The Inquisitor smiled, grateful for the girl's desire to help, but nevertheless insisted,

-Have you eaten?

The girl blushed even more, looking toward the kitchen nervously.

-I... I will once I finish here, my Lady. Please don't worry yourself about little old me.

Evelyn then took the pitcher gently but firmly from her hand, and left the glass over the table. The girl completely panicked, her body stiff as if she could physically feel Josephine's eyes on her, just at her back.

-You are finished. Tell the others that as well,- she said, looking at the other members of staff approaching them with filled pitchers. -We are perfectly capable of filling our own glasses. I'll make sure to serve our guests.

The girl seemed torn between doing what the Inquisitor told her, and paying heed to Josephine's previous orders, but Evelyn looked at her again and said,

-Go celebrate and enjoy your breakfast.

Hattie left the table and intercepted the other cupbearers, who looked confused for a minute, but eventually left three more pitchers in front of them and left. A few minutes later, most of them were sitting at a table and having their own breakfast.

Josephine, of course, was entirely high strung. The complete disregard for protocol was making her lose her bearings to the point that she began to stammer while talking to Adair, whom sat next to Sebastian. The idea of not being in control of a social gathering was worrying her, but since they had established the Inquisition, Evelyn had refused to be spoon fed by servants. She could not completely reject the need for them, both for practical reasons and to give the civilians who wanted to contribute something to the organization (and thought the best way was by returning whatever they felt grateful for) some labor of their own. Some cooked, others helped with the crops in the lower lands, soldiers fought, blacksmiths crafted weapons, horse masters and stable boys took good care of the mounts, and some served, but always from a place of respect. No one, from the advisors, to the inner circle, to herself, to the most basic servant, was above another. Skyhold was a community where everyone did their part, and nobody deserved more or less than anyone else. She was not going to begin stepping over those convictions now just because there was a guest among them.

Before she could drink or eat though, Evelyn felt she was being observed, and she raised her eyes to find Sebastian's directly on her. His eyes, almost the color of a pristine zircon, were looking at her with complete admiration.

-You surprise me at every turn, Evelyn. That was admirable, and very gentle of you. I can see why Andraste graced you with her touch.

Without knowing why, she felt embarrassed by his almost worshiping tone. The holy implications of his observation though, broke the spell.

-Believe me, if you knew me better, you'd probably be disappointed.

Sebastian laughed softly, only to place his intense gaze on her once again a moment later.

-I doubt there is anything that you can do to disappoint me, my Lady.

Maker, she needed to change the subject now, especially considering how much attention he was attracting with his eyes fixed upon her and his body turned toward her, ignoring completely the delicacies in front of him and instead looking at her as if she was Andraste, herself.

She looked ahead only to catch Varric and Hawke smirking, looking at them from over their shoulders, and slowly calling the attention of everyone at their table, except perhaps Sera and Cole. One was too busy trying to see how much food she could stuff in her mouth without suffocating, and the other seemed, as usual, lost in thought. And by the look on Solas, who was whispering to him, the spirit was already hearing someone's thoughts on the wind and was, without fail, voicing them inappropriately.

She registered all of this in the span of a second before she looked back at Sebastian, having found the perfect excuse to change the subject.

-My Lady? What happened to leaving the formalities behind us?- She smiled to show that she was teasing him, and not truly annoyed by the way he had fallen into protocol again.

-You are right. I stand corrected,- he said with a smile, raising and lowering his brows comically.

Evelyn had to admit that despite the few moments that she'd felt uncomfortable (most of which not been her or Sebastian's fault), she liked the Prince well enough. He seemed an honest man, intelligent and kind. He was apparently quite able to follow her sarcastic sense of humor, and even enjoyed it, which might have had something to do with the fact that he had traveled alongside Hawke for years, and if there was anyone who could defeat her in that department, it was certainly the Champion of Kirkwall. Still, Sebastian's sense of humor seemed to be more reserved, and not in a way where he would hide it, but in a sense where, at whim, he could make her feel like there was something of which she was not privy or, even more overwhelmingly, as if a secret had been shared privately and everyone else around them was left wondering what it was they had missed. It was enigmatic to say the least, but considering how in need she was of entertaining other thoughts than what had happened less than a day ago, she was grateful that Sebastian turned out to be someone whose company was enjoyable and not only tolerable. Rational or not, she had feared this whole affair would turn out to be like coming out of a Palace filled with nobles, only to greet yet another in her own house.

The next minutes came and went almost in total silence while everyone took a few moments to fill their plates. Josephine grew even more uncomfortable at the sight of the Prince of Starkhaven helping himself to the meal, but before she could offer to call for service, he spoke again.

-I must say, this is refreshing,- he admitted, adding fried mushrooms to the sausages on his plate. -It's been _years_ since the last time anyone allowed me to fill my own plate!- Next to him, Adair rolled his eyes before accepting the black pudding Josephine offered.

When Starkhaven's advisor signaled her to move the tray away along after he hauled a generous amount of its contents to his plate, Josephine extended it to Sebastian.

-Your Highness, would you care for some black pudding? Our chefs prepared it especially for your arrival.

Though she phrased it as a polite offer, she was already serving it before Sebastian could accept or refuse. Still, leave it to Josephine to be serving food in the best maternal style and still look like the ruling lady of a social event. In turn, Sebastian's face seemed to play the corresponding role and, for a second, he winced like a child who had been forced to eat something he did not like, taking great care to hide it from Josephine and making it so fleeting that only Evelyn, to whom the Prince was partially turned toward, caught it.

-Thank you, Lady Montilyet, but though my countrymen are fond of the dish,- he looked purposely at Adair, who was already shoveling it into his mouth like a starved man trying his best to nourish his body after days of neglect, dangerously close to crossing the line between appreciating a fine cuisine and acting like a mabari, -it hasn't ever sat well with me.

Josephine looked truly appalled by this revelation, probably wondering why she had not asked Leliana to investigate what kinds of foods the Prince did and didn't favor.

Actually, her anguish was so noticeable that it was apparently what prompted Adair to try to console her.

-Nae bother,- he said, and immediately took the Prince's plate and scraped the pudding onto his own, leaving a dark, crumby trail behind it that made Sebastian grimace again. Seeing this, and perhaps because he anticipated Sebastian's predictable reaction, he then used a slice of fried bread to soak the remaining black pudding from the plate, placing it in his mouth just before he returned the dish to a highly amused Sebastian with a last declaration of, -More for me, eh, lad?

At this, Sebastian simply nodded and smirked, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. In fact, it seemed the dynamic between the two was so informal that Sebastian himself didn't hesitate to grab his fork and stab (there was no other way to describe it, considering how the plate chinked when the fork hit it) a potato scone on his advisor's plate, raising it to his mouth and biting it with a huge grin dedicated especially to his advisor, who was looking at him completely affronted.

This time, Josephine actually gasped in surprise at their behavior.

-I beg your forgiveness, Lady Ambassador. This is in fact a grand feast, and I'm extremely grateful for it.- He looked down at the table then, and Evey noticed a fleeting devilish smile on his face. _Was Sebastian enjoying Josephine's dismay?_ -A pity there isn't any porridge to go with it.- And then he looked back at Evey and winked in complicity.

The teasing, of course, had the desired effect. Josephine immediately began to raise from her chair, already excusing herself profusely.

-Oh, Your Highness, do forgive me! I can have the cooks prepare a batch immediately.

Sebastian made a gesture to coax her to sit again.

-No, don't make a fuss. This is splendid enough. More than that, actually!

Josephine sat again and blushed terribly in a heady blend of embarrassment and what looked like genuine doubt about whether she had been played or not.

-Yes, my Prince.

Evey noticed then that her ambassador was fidgeting and furrowing her brows in a variety of different scowls, from the faintest expression, to a surprisingly intense one that the Antivan would have never done were she not completely fazed by something. The Inquisitor could almost hear her thoughts from her place at the table. " _Maker, how did I forget the porridge?!_ "

-You are a cruel man, Sebastian Vael,- Evelyn whispered to the amused prince with a smile on her lips that took the edge off of her words, -unusually so, considering you were a Brother of the Chantry.

Sebastian's smile widened.

-I'm sure the _past_ tense would have something to do with that,- he winked. -I meant no harm, though.- And without preamble, he set down the silverite fork and scooped the remains of the scone on his plate into his hand, biting it again.

From two seats ahead, Josephine's unrepressed " _Maker_ " reached them, causing them both to laugh quietly.

-You are practically _torturing_ her. I haven't seen her this flustered since she first watched Blackwall eat, thinking it was a great idea to invite the lonely warden for tea.- Next to them, Adair was complimenting the food, also now eating sans fork whenever he could. Josephine looked like she was about to hyperventilate.

-We Starkhaveners are a simple folk, but I'm afraid my years away from the Chantry might have helped me regain some of my appetite for more… worldly pleasures.- Somehow the way he'd said that had her thinking of anything _but_ food. -And, I admit, between those instances, there might be a bit of teasing, too.

She lowered her eyes to her food, suddenly feeling the need to sever the tie his eyes held on her. Little did she know that another pair of eyes had been set on her since the moment she took a sit, watching carefully over every interaction she had with Sebastian, and hating every minute of it.

Back in Kirkwall, when Cullen had first met Sebastian, after a short couple of hours in the presence of the Prince he had been convinced that if he had heard about Vael's personality instead of actually being there when he was a Brother of the Chantry, he would have never believed the tales were about the same man now having breakfast with them. Four years ago Cullen had felt that, among Hawke's associates, Sebastian was the voice of reason more times than not, except maybe for Captain Aveline Vallen, if due to nothing else than his religious convictions. Whereas Varric was ambitious, Fenris distrustful, Isabella licentious, Carver impulsive, Merrill dangerous and Anders a complete psychopath, at least in Cullen's opinion, Sebastian seemed grounded and, with the logical exception of desiring vengeance on his family's murderers, he always appeared to be the tethered, keeping the band from going short of berserker with such personalities colliding almost constantly.

It was, of course, an outsider's opinion, and even though Cullen might be mistaken about the dynamic of their group, he was sure he wasn't in error when it came to the evaluation of the opinion he'd held toward Sebastian. But now the man seemed transfixed. The innocent, calm and stoic Brother of the Chantry was morphed into a playful, insinuating and charismatic ruler who had apparently decided on conquering something other than lands. What the Prince didn't know was that he was craving something, or someone, that did not belong to him. Maybe she didn't belong to Cullen either, not after how he had behaved, but at the very least he was willing to fight for what he desired most in this life. Evelyn's affections were too important to him to just stand back and leave her at the mercy of some other man.

Perhaps those were the feelings that prompted him into action, without much thought for the consequences of his words.

Sebastian was still chatting with her, seizing every opportunity he had to brush his fingers against hers, or to call her attention with what seemed like too intimate a look in Cullen's opinion to just let it slide.

The Prince was eating scarcely, instead more interested in asking after her family and childhood, or her personal experience in the Chantry, comparing her life constantly to his own, and thanking the Maker out loud that their similarities at last ended before she could say she'd also lost her family.

The situation felt uncomfortably familiar to Cullen, echoing memories of her on a hot night in the Western Approach, playing chess with him and talking about life in a moment so intimate that it rested high up in Cullen's most precious memories.

The idea of Sebastian mirroring himself in a memory held so dear had robbed Cullen of any lingering appetite for his meal. The Commander was barely capable of eating anything, instead too focused on watching Evelyn and the Prince together, and the dismaying fact that he was too far away to courteously cut into their interaction caused his voice raise more than what he had aimed for, choosing to take swift action in the heat of the moment.

He wasn't even bothered that Sebastian was still talking about how chantry services had a tendency to grow monotonous after a time, a life of contemplation purifying ones soul and giving the peace one sought, but lacking any true intellectual challenge unless one occupied a high role in the Chantry hierarchy and needed to mediate between nobles and rulers to placate any conflicts.

-Do you play chess, your Highness?- Cullen asked, leaning over the table to take a good look at the Prince, avoiding Josephine's outraged and scandalous expression at thus interrupting Sebastian.- It's quite an intellectually stimulating game.

Sebastian turned toward the Commander, his face the perfect mask of politeness.

-I played on rare occasions when I was posted on Kirkwall. Not many Chantry Sisters or Brothers indulged in it, and Hawke and our friends favored cards, mostly. But since then, I occasionally play a game or two.

Cullen smiled. It was, to anyone who knew him, a forced smile, and yet lingering behind it was some sense of devious pleasure, just like when he was sparring and could effectively predict his competitor's imminent fall.

-I play religiously.- There was a small twitch in Sebastian's hand at the casual use of that last word.- Weekly with Dorian, and compulsively when I was just a boy. I daresay I know every strategy to win, though it's hard to say for sure with so few opponents on which to test my abilities. Maybe you'll accept a challenge?

Cullen left it there. It was now Sebastian's decision on whether to take the proverbial glove he had thrown. Of course, he knew the Prince didn't actually have an option. To refuse, especially in front of Evey, whom he was clearly trying to impress, would make him look terrible, and Cullen was counting on this, hitting the Prince in his pride to lure him to a game of chess that he could almost feel he had already won.

Before Sebastian could answer though, Cullen felt the tip of a boot kicking him in the shin.

-Maker, Cullen, hush!- were the words that accompanied the aggression. Unfortunately for Josephine, the Commander had on his full armor, and after she kicked him she did her best to hide the pain when her toe hit his greaves.

At Evelyn's side, Leliana sipped her wine, trying to hide her amusement, while Cassandra simply rolled her eyes at Cullen.

The Prince acted as if he had not heard nor seen Josephine's reaction, which had been impossible to miss. He first looked back at Evey and threw her a courteous smile, as if asking her to excuse Cullen for the inappropriate interruption of their lovely talk. It reminded Cullen so much of the way Orleisan nobles would look down upon military figures, as if they were savage oafs, that he had to mentally focus on the many ways he would humiliate Sebastian in their game to satiate his rage. The Prince then turned to Cullen again and lowered his lids almost imperceptibly, looking at the Commander in a way that clearly met his challenge.

-It's been some time since I played, but I would be happy to oppose you.- Unexpectedly, his brogue had thickened, and the more animalistic part of Cullen answered in turn with the burning need to growl at the complacent smile on the Prince's face. Before he could do that though, or even answer, Josephine interrupted them.

The ambassador looked between the men back and forth in the span of a breath before settling her eyes on Sebastian.

-You don't need to do that, your Highness. Let's just have a nice breakfast for now. More wine?- she offered, raising the bottle in Sebastian's direction. The Prince picked up his glass by the stem and allowed her to fill it, his eyes barely leaving Cullen's for a second to thank her with a nod. Seemingly satisfied, Josephine continued, -We can discuss that later.- Then she left the bottle on the table next to Adair's plate, looking back at the Commander with reproach, almost firing lightning at him with her eyes while Evelyn tried her best to ignore the whole scene, drinking from her own glass. -Our Commander does tend to suck the magic out of certain situations.

Josephine had not finished her stinger before the Inquisitor began to seriously fight to not suffocate on her own drink. Contrary to anyone else in the room who thought perhaps Josephine's quip took Evelyn by surprise or that she might have choked because she found it amusing, Cullen unfortunately knew better. Josephine had unwittingly hit the nail on the head, her words reminding him and the Inquisitor what had happened yesterday morning between them, and the real reason why she was now avoiding him with all her might.

Evelyn was leaning over the table, desperate to appear at least a little bit feminine and trying to prevent the liquid from seeping out of her hand (where she had inadvertently spit some back), begging the Maker that the wine did not break a path to her nose in her desperation to breathe again.

To Cullen's absolute rage, Sebastian had found in this the perfect excuse to touch her again, softly patting her back and even leaving his hand there once she recovered, caressing her almost lovingly, while he offered his napkin before she could redraw her hand from her mouth. He even went to the extent of leaning over her, close to her face, to whisper something. Evey nodded in answer while she wiped at her mouth, proving that the Prince had just asked her if she was alright, taking his hand back from her… but not before he could also brush her shoulder in his path.

By then the breakfast was almost over, and everyone's plate (that is, the ones that had actually managed to eat) were already empty. Even the most voracious members of the Inner Circle were amicably talking, ignoring completely the still staggering amount of food lingering in front of them.

Sebastian, apparently, saw the perfect opportunity in this.

-Perhaps a little air will help you.- Then he rose from his chair and extended a hand, bowing slightly toward her. -I'd be delighted to take a tour of your ramparts, Evelyn,- and, with a voice one octave lower, he added, -if you'll have me.

-Are you sure? Wouldn't you rather see your room and get some rest after your travels?- She was genuinely shocked that he didn't elect to leave his seat just to fall headfirst into the presumably luxurious bed ready for him.

-I can rest anytime, but having the company of a woman such as yourself does not happen every day.

Evelyn was still trying to recover from her accident, and this was not precisely helping her to breathe any better, especially when not even a second after his reply, Sebastian was framed by an outraged Cullen, who was purposely ignoring everyone after he leapt from his seat so suddenly that he banged his knee against the table, making everything on it jump, even spilling a few glasses that were too full for their benefit. Sebastian, however, ignored the Commander as if nothing had happened, still leaning toward her with his hand in midair.

After a short hesitation, she began to raise her hand in the Prince's direction, trying furiously to force her face into at least the softest smile on the surface, but still utterly failing. The moment passed in the span of a few seconds, and in that time, Cullen's eyes on her went from indignation to humiliation, only to end up conveying his sheer heartbreak.

Before she could answer in words to Sebastian's proposal, in front of everyone, Commander Cullen Stanton Rutherford abruptly exited the main hall.

His body flinched at the very same moment Evelyn's hand rested in Sebastian's own, as if with that simple gesture, she had physically burned his own palm…

And his very soul.


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38: Manners

The wind through the ramparts was blowing more strongly than at ground level, so the moment they climbed the stairs, Evey felt the bitter chill typical of mornings at high altitude, the spring not yet able to thaw off the cold that still lingered long after the night was over. At least, that's what she told herself over and over. Nevertheless, she had to admit that last look she'd seen on Cullen's face had sent a chill from the back of her neck and down her spine, and when she'd stepped outside with Sebastian, she prayed not to cross paths with him again during their stroll… Even if, at the same time, she surreptitiously glanced around everywhere to find him.

They ascended the stairs quietly, Sebastian trying to take in all that was Skyhold, and at the same time giving her enough space to process all that had happened. He was no fool, and despite not reacting to it at the time, he had watched the Commander's departure. It was easy to imagine that there was something behind his attitude, though he could not quite pinpoint what it was. Evelyn did not seem particularly attached to him, but the Commander harbored a possessiveness toward her that bordered on obsession, at least from the vantage point of an outsider.

Inwardly he couldn't blame the Commander for anything except not being able to secure a place at her side even long after the Conclave was destroyed, as he so obviously desired. Back in his most rakish days, Sebastian would have surely employed a myriad of strategies to secure her affections. Yet he could tell from just a few minutes after meeting her that even in his adolescence, when he had not been "out of the game" and his morals had been nearly nonexistent, it would have taken careful planning and the use of all his charisma to make her yield to his charms. Evelyn was not easily impressionable. She was an educated, intelligent woman who had enough wit to challenge his own, so she would never fall prey to a winning smile or a few whispers in the dark. In his youth, he would have taken her as a personal challenge, becoming obsessed with her to the point where he would have done the unthinkable to get her into bed.

Now Sebastian was more mature, and a great deal wiser. The idea of tricking someone just to brag about his unrivalled magnetism with women, or his many conquests, wasn't an appealing idea to him anymore. In those days, he had treated each night of passion as little more than a way to show the world that he was completely irresistible, that with nothing but his own eloquence and looks he could conquer any woman he desired, as well as master the Orlesian art of The Game. Over the years, though, he had learned to respect those women trusting and innocent enough to fall for a libertine, which he had undeniably been during his adolescence. However, he especially admired those who would have posed a challenge worthy of his obsession and, as he suspected was Evelyn's case, valued those who would have been next to impossible to convince, even then. He wanted to believe that with enough time he would have conquered her as well. A brash part of him that the Chantry had not been able to eradicate from his personality still needed to enjoy those private ego boosts, telling himself that if he fought for it, there would be no woman able to resist him.

But deep down, Sebastian knew that he was as fallible and human as anyone, and therefore completely undesirable for some women, even if the sheer notion hurt him in his male pride.

Ironically enough, and unbeknownst to him, it was only now that he had more of a chance to win Evey's heart, since it was now that he possessed characteristics that Evelyn found desirable, whereas he'd lacked many of them when he had thought himself irresistible. Not that she was considering it. Quite frankly, she was doing all in her power to avoid thinking about anything that resembled love in all forms right now, but she could easily see why there had been so many longing sighs when the Prince had arrived, even when those had been prompted more by his striking features than anything else. After all, no one apart from Varric and Hawke had known Sebastian for more than a few minutes… Except maybe the Commander.

Evelyn cursed herself under her breath. There she went again, thinking of Cullen. They had made it to the top of the ramparts and she had still been thinking of him ever since he had stormed away in the Main Hall. His face had looked so heartbroken, almost pleading her not to take the Prince's hand...

At the memory, a shudder traveled down her spine.

Deciding to distract herself with light small talk with Sebastian, Evey stopped short when she felt a heavy fabric fall over her shoulders, only to immediately be followed by his arms surrounding her from behind and securing it with a pin engraved with Andraste's stoic face.

-Here… You seem cold,- were Sebastian's soft words once he'd covered her.

Surprised, Evelyn looked at his retreating hands and found his fly plaid over her shoulders and chest, Andraste looking off into the distance over her heart. Briefly she wondered if the Prince had secured the pin there purposely, or just by coincidence.

-I... Thank you, Sebastian. You're very kind, but now you're going to be cold instead.

He almost laughed then, silently acknowledging all the answers he would have given her in the past, most of them regarding the fact that he would avoid the chill if she shared her warmth with him.

-Don't worry after me; I've plenty of clothes. Besides...- His confident smile flickered beneath the surface for a second while he walked to stand next to her, -I'm not the one with my back uncovered.

Were those _his_ fingers running over her lower back? She looked at him and, seeing that he was more focused on the mountain view than her, discarded the idea as ridiculous. Both his hands were, after all, in front of him.

-Well, remind me to ask you to talk to Josephine about the disadvantages of dressing like a lady.

Sebastian's lip rose then, and he looked back at her from the corner of his eyes.

-I'm afraid I'll have to decline, Evelyn, since doing so might lead to never seeing you in such finery again.

Honestly unable to help herself, she blushed. He had the ability to flatter her and slightly embarrass her at the same time.

-I'm making you uncomfortable; I'm sorry.

-No, don't worry about it. It's just that...- She looked at him suddenly, worried her next statement might come off as offensive. Then she sighed and continued. -Well, to be honest, you don't really act like someone who spent all those years in the Chantry.

Sebastian turned to look at her then, leaning on his left side against the battlements' wall. He was smiling, thoroughly amused.

-You know… I could say the same about you.

She laughed, knowing he had answered exactly as she would have.

-You got me there.

-You are not the first person to make that observation, though,- he sighed. -Being in the Chantry allows you many advantages over the common man. -He smirked then, his mind recalling a memory. -My grandfather used to say, "The Maker ordained a place for each of us. We have only to serve."- His eyes left her to instead concentrate on the horizon beyond Skyhold's walls. -At first, I thought my place was to enjoy all of life's salacious pleasures, and I didn't care if that was what the Maker wanted for me or not. Then I became… almost obsessed with His plan for me, desperate to fulfill the duty He had bestowed upon my heart, but even if at the time I felt blessed by the chance of a life of contemplation, I struggled with my nature.

He favored her over the view again, his eyes looking at her now with a mixture of intrigue and unabashed interest.

-Whether I'm a Brother of the Chantry or the Prince of Starkhaven, I'm still a man.- He smiled again, not quite hiding a hint of primal desire as he stole a quick glance at her figure surreptitiously. -The difference is that now I am free to admire a woman's beauty without having to ask for forgiveness later.

oOo

Cullen had been nursing a headache for so long that he was having difficulty remembering the exact moment when it began, and now to make things maddeningly worse, his back was killing him, entirely due to being unable to relax since Josephine had announced the day before that they were receiving Sebastian Vael's visit this morning.

He had planned to use whatever time was left before Evelyn ventured out on another mission to explain what had happened, or at least as much as he had been able to figure out. He was still unsure as to _why_ he had reacted that way, and the possibilities were too numerous to consider all of them as plausible. It could have been the lyrium in his body dipping to the lowest point it had ever been, the withdrawal sapping his strength and making him react in the basest of ways. Or perhaps it was partially his own fault, confusing the burning need for the lyrium with his alarming desire to have Evelyn in his arms once again after a long absence. There was the possibility of both those factors combining with the unfortunate fact that she had been emanating uncontrolled power from the unstable mark. Or maybe it was just him that had been too weary and weak to control the lingering power in his blood in the presence of magical abilities, even when those were not exactly the ones he had been trained to guard against. No matter what, the reality was one: He had attacked her, and the only chance he had to make her hear his excuses in order to recognize his deep regret and shame for it had been completely destroyed with the arrival of the Prince, who had been adamant in hoarding her time and attention from the moment he rode into Skyhold, leaving her available only to Josephine, the master puppeteer of another one of her social gatherings.

He knew they were out there on the ramparts together. There was no need to see it to confirm it was happening. And the parallels between the last time Evelyn was there with him were not helping his backache. He was tense, like a bowstring that had been pulled too far for too long, but without any chance of letting it snap eventually. Up until that morning, his uneasiness laid in the idea that the Prince would consume much of her time without giving him the opportunity to speak to her in private and explain himself, but now it was far worse. Long gone was the pious Brother, replaced by a man that seemed to have left the Chantry's teachings behind and, contrary to what he would have expected, was more focused on Evelyn as a woman than as the Herald of Andraste. And now because of him, she was free to accept Sebastian if she so wished.

Somehow he didn't even feel worthy enough to pray to Andraste or the Maker for aid in this situation. After what he had done, and considering who was now competing with him, he knew his God and His Bride would favor Sebastian over him any day.

But it just didn't feel right.

He was immersed in those thoughts when the door in front of him opened violently, almost banging clear against the wall. Guided by that image, he would have assumed it was one of his soldiers with an emergency missive, or even one of the strongest members of the Inner Circle. So when he raised his eyes and saw it was actually Josephine looming in the doorway, he immediately lost his ability to speak, which apparently was ideal for her since she began to rant at him nonstop the moment he caught sight of her.

-Are you out of your _mind?-_ Then she seemed to realize her voice had raised a little too much, especially with the Inquisitor and the Prince somewhere in the ramparts. She took a step forward and closed the door with utmost care, though that same care vanished when she turned again to look at him, fire in her green eyes despite her voice being significantly lowered. -You must be! Otherwise I cannot fathom why would you do such a thing to me! To all of us! Maker, to the Inquisitor!

-And what, pray tell, have I done that is so terrible?- he asked already knowing the answer and regretting it immediately. He was nowhere near in a good enough state to listen Josephine rant, but if it was as necessary as she thought it was, he should have just shut his mouth and listened until she had run out of things to say. Instead here he was, throwing wood into an already raging inferno. All because of his sour mood.

-You _dare_ to ask?- It was a rhetorical question apparently, since the Ambassador didn't give him a second to answer, rushing toward him with her notepad clutched in her right hand for dear life.- You insulted the Prince in front of all Skyhold!- She emphasized her words, raising her hands in the air as if not sure what else to do with them.

She was about to keep going, but the moment she paused to take a breath, Cullen interrupted.

-I might not be as versed as you are in manners, but I did no such thing. Am I a child that needs to be excused from a table?

-Sometimes I do wonder, Cullen, considering how you behave!- she countered immediately.

-Really? I'm surprised, considering how you indulged him then and how you so conveniently forget that all of Skyhold _also_ witnessed that man blatantly grope her in front of everyone... with _your_ permission, I might add.

Josephine opened her eyes as big as saucers and shook her head in disbelief. She couldn't believe he had the gall to raise such an accusation.

-Are you insinuating I would _ever_ use her as social leverage in the most crude and offensive manner?- Her words were measured, almost as if she was daring Cullen to tarnish their argument by calling it by another name.

The Commander felt an evil, yet detached grin surface without even being aware he was doing it. It was not a victorious smile, nor one born of satisfaction. In fact, it was more of a strange kind of grimace that preluded what he thought would be the best way to make Josephine storm out, mortally offended but leaving him to burn in his private Void.

-Not quite. I lack the dexterity with words to put it so elegantly.

Josephine took a moment to regain her composure. Cullen could almost hear her actually counting to ten in the hopes of stopping a sudden urge to strangle him. Then the ambassador stepped forward to his desk and leaned over it with both hands gripping the wood, saying slowly.

-Listen to me, you... _brute!_ \- Then she sighed again, closing her eyes as she let her breath out, and opened them to a new woman, one more centered. -There was nothing untoward with the way the Prince treated her. He was a complete gentleman, and therefore I did not need to do anything to persuade him to do otherwise. The only one present behaving poorly was _you_ , trying to do Maker knows what, challenging him to a game and disregarding protocol completely by leaving the table first!

In a perfect display of the very same thing he was being accused of, Cullen interrupted her.

-He was the one that insisted on dropping protocol, Josephine!

-With the _Inquisitor_ , Cullen! Not you!- Josephine's voice pitched high out of control, and she immediately looked at the western door out of fear that the Inquisitor and the Prince had heard her. Hearing nothing, she once again sighed and, with a coldness Cullen had never seen before from her, added, -Mark my words Commander: if you have ruined a possible alliance with Starkhaven...

Once again, Cullen chimed in without preamble.

-It won't. I daresay he would do anything to remain in her good graces. Just as you do with him.

Josephine was not deterred by the defiant tone in Cullen's words nor his unveiled accusation of bending backwards to please the Prince. Glaring at him with the closest thing to hate she was able to muster at someone who was not truly hated by her, she answered in a tone that resembled a little girl in a tantrum:

-Good! I won't have your undiplomatic manners ruining this for her.- She pointed at him as if accusing him of that exact thing in that moment, just by virtue of being alive. Then she pushed herself up softly and looked down on him from the advantageous and fleeting angle she had, so long as he remained sitting in his chair. -You're the head of an army, Commander. Please act accordingly!- She made the smallest pause in between the last three words as if to make sure they stuck inside his thick head. After that, her eyes looked almost pleading. -The Prince is the best candidate the Inquisitor will ever meet!

For a second Cullen feared he was trapped in his own nightmare. Surely he had heard her wrong.

-...Candidate for what, exactly?- His words were soft and hesitant, but the feeling was diametrically opposed to Josephine's. As she took a moment to calm herself, his desperation began to raise at an alarming rate. Whether it ended up maiming him depended entirely on Josephine's answer.

-For suitor, of course.

The answer came casually, Josephine glancing down at her board again as if their discussion was no longer important, the topic long exhausted by now, and quite frankly boring her already.

Cullen, on the other hand, felt his whole world collapsing. When he spoke, he did so with a thread of voice.

-Is that… the real reason why he's here?

At this Josephine raised her eyes, looking at him as she would had done to an impetuous child.

-Well, not entirely. Not at first, at least. But they have left the Chantry long enough to consider it. Besides, the Inquisition could use their support, and Starkhaven is in dire need of an heir.

The sole mention of an heir, a child born of Evelyn from another man, made him see red, wanting nothing more than to march out of his office and find Evey to yell what Josephine was brewing behind her back. But it was short lived. The mere idea of how she would surely look at him if he even dared to approach her, paired with the exhaustion he felt that resembled that of a week of unrelenting battle instead of merely two whole days of sheer despair from the moment he smote her with an ability that was no longer fully at his disposal, and at the same time destroying all chances he ever had to achieve anything that resembled happiness, made him feel like the whole world had fallen over him. If Corypheus had entered at that exact moment, lifted him off his feet as he had done with Evelyn all those months ago, and crushed his head against the floor, it wouldn't have hurt as much as this.

It was the last piece of the puzzle. Between Josephine's machinations, Leliana's abilities, Sebastian's charm, and his own stupidity that had robbed him of the only thing that might have made her reconsider in the light of this upcoming proposal, she was as good as lost to him. And that was not it; this was just beginning. He would be forced to witness this man take her from him, being unable to do anything but watch. And the one that had set all of this in motion was now casually strolling through his office, almost as if she were waiting to see how he crumbled under the weight of his broken dreams.

For a second, he honestly feared what he was capable of doing if Josephine lingered there much longer. He liked the Ambassador, respected her, and deep down he knew she was acting for the good of them all, searching for a man that would be able to give Evelyn everything Cullen never could, while at the same time not condemning her to a marriage that lacked all redeemable qualities besides financial security. He knew Sebastian well enough to know that he _was_ in fact an amazing candidate, but the notion that she might be better off in another's arms clouded all reason.

Slowly, almost predatorily, he raised his eyes to Josephine, a thread of his voice forcing its way out of a suddenly dried throat.

-Leave me alone.

The tone had been too soft even to travel the short distance that separated him from the Ambassador, and Josephine looked back at him with the same charming smile as always which, even knowing it was not the case, looked fake and rehearsed in Cullen's eyes.

-What was that, Commander?

Cullen's hands were now gripping his armrests like a vice, his knuckles a pale white with the effort. Once again, he looked into Josephine's eyes, a murderous glint shining behind his amber irises, almost biting out his words.

-Leave. Me. _Alone_.

oOo

If Sebastian hadn't shown an interest in the wondrous mare he had seen upon his arrival, leading them to make a trip to the stables just a couple of minutes after Josephine entered Cullen's office, and they had remained talking in the ramparts instead, Evelyn and the Prince would have been able to hear what most of the soldiers on the Inquisition's army referred to as "the Lion's roar," followed closely by a strong crash against the southern door.

The one that heard it, naturally, was Josephine, making her leap several paces away in shock as she left his office in what almost mirrored the childish skips she used to take in her father's courtyard when she was no more than five years of age. At least she had managed to stifle the fearful scream that had nearly escaped from her throat.

The Commander's rage seemed exaggerated to say the least, and it baffled her so immensely that she knew there was no way she could simply go back to her office and work. In the time it took to close the distance that separated the rotunda from what she was inclined to call "the lion's den", she decided a quick visit to Leliana was paramount.

By the time she reached the rookery, her mood had soured even more, if that was possible. She hated this place, though she would never say so with those words. It was dark even during the day, constantly echoing with the caws of crows, and it had a distinctive smell that she found quite offensive to her nose. To make matters worse, Leliana did not seem to acknowledge any of those unresolved problems, instead being perfectly comfortable to spend most of her days at her desk reading one of her many spy reports, surrounded by the screeching, unhygienic animals. Still, all those details which would have moved Josephine to demand a new office did not affect Leliana, who instead raised her hooded head in surprise, but with an inviting smile nonetheless, when she saw the Ambassador approaching her desk.

-Josephine! What do you need?

The Antivan knew Leliana noticed her uneasiness, but she was not exactly sure if the Spymaster would only think it was due to the crow's proximity or if she understood that something else was bothering her.

The point was moot of course. Leliana was one of the best spies (if not _the_ best) and little went over her. She was extremely perceptive, and even if Josephine had tried to hide it, she would have known immediately. The funny part was that the ambassador was not sure whether Leliana would notice the true extent of her worry, even when it was almost written in every move and look she sent her way. Nevertheless, Josie was a lady first, and all other aspects came later, so it was on those terms that she grabbed a chair which was almost hidden behind a couple of barrels, trying her very best not to flinch at the less than pristine state of said chair, and placing it close to Leliana's on the same side of the desk. She whispered indignantly, making sure none of Leliana's men would hear.

-You will not believe what just happened.- The redheaded Bard did not have time to ask before she explained. -I went to speak to the Commander about his scandalous behavior during breakfast and he _actually,_ \- she lowered her voice a little bit more and leaned closer, -kicked me out of his office!

Leliana made a great effort not to laugh or even smirk at Josephine's indignant tone, instead enjoying the other woman's complete ignorance regarding the Commander's obvious display of possessiveness over breakfast.

-Truly? Maybe you just caught him at an awkward moment?- Leliana loved to play dumb in these cases, and this time it did no harm to anyone to indulge, except perhaps Josephine's nerves, but she was planning on calming her worry eventually.

-To be honest, I could not care less. Who does _he_ think he is? -Without being fully aware of it, Josephine had raised the tenor of her voice higher and higher with each word, to the point that now probably even Solas would be able to hear her. And with his ears, she did not doubt this observation much. -Talking like _that_ to a Prince! And then when I try to teach him how to be civilized, he accuses me of... of...-She was choking, as if she couldn't stomach to repeat Cullen's accusation.

Leliana waited a full five second period to give Josie the opportunity to voice it on her own, but when the ambassador just fell silent and shook her head, Leliana realized she needed a nudge into the right direction.

-Of...?- she inquired in a tone that reflected perfect innocence.

Josephine let out a heavy sigh, taking a second to calm herself and brace for what she needed to repeat, fearing this might be what finally triggered one of the hysterical attacks that made her infamous among her family. When she felt she had gathered enough calm to keep going, she glanced at Leliana and whispered.

-He accuses me of being some sort of… madam in a _whore_ house!- The way she said the word "whore", as if it was a bitter taste that sullied her tongue, made Leliana finally snap and eventually led her to laugh out loud, to Josephine's complete shock.

-Josie isn't it obvious?- By the look on Josephine's face, it wasn't. -The Commander is jealous. I thought you knew people better than this.- The ambassador still seemed at a loss, looking at her with furrowed brows. -My spies have told me many things about them. He even used one of my birds to communicate with her the last _two times_ she was away. Honestly, I fear what he will do once she travels beyond the Dales. That particular bird can only fly there. - Slowly, things seemed to be dawning on Josephine's mind, like pieces in a puzzle falling into place. -I'm not saying the Prince is not a good match, but be aware of who else may have been interested in courting her.

 _And somewhat succeeding from what I heard, at least before whatever happened that drove them apart_ , Leliana thought, but said nothing. Josephine didn't need to know that, nor was she prepared to hear it, considering how confused she looked in that moment.

Deep down, behind the amusement Josephine's face provoked in her, Leliana felt terribly for the Commander. He had been _so_ close, according to what her spies had told her, but somewhere along the road, one of them had made a mistake, and now he was living a torturous existence.

 _One that has only just begun,_ she reminded herself.


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39: One Laughs and Another Suffers

For the first night of the Prince's stay, Josephine had planned an overwhelming evening banquet that put breakfast to shame. The main tables had been replaced by one larger "U" shaped table, where the inner circle, all advisors, and guests would join the Inquisitor for a communal supper in front of all Skyhold.

The imagery on display was not casual, either. By sitting Evey and Sebastian next to one another at the middle of the seating arrangements on slightly higher ground than the other tables, Josephine was trying to prolong the success of that morning, perpetuating the concept of Sebastian at her side, and giving the people the opportunity to see both of them interact naturally.

The Commander had been a factor that she had not foreseen, but one she could not be influenced by. She felt sorry for him and for any pain this might cause him, but in the end the decision would be up to the Inquisitor, and that part was beyond her control. True enough, she was going to do her best to tilt the balance in Sebastian's favor, but that did not mean she harbored ill will toward Cullen; she just thought the Prince would be a better option, both politically and intimately, if only just because he had more things in common with Evelyn. They were both nobles, and educated as such, had come from renown families, beloved by their people, shared a past in the Chantry where they had given their lives a turn for the better (though, according to Leliana, the Prince had experienced a bigger change than Evelyn whilst in the service of the Maker), and they were now both in charge of the safety and lives of many people, even when, in this department, Evelyn's hands were fuller by virtue of being responsible for the survival of all of Thedas as they knew it.

Cullen, on the other hand, came from a family of farmers, and had been educated humbly until he'd joined the Templars. Although an intelligent man, he lacked the ability a noble had, and was more crude and simple in many aspects where Evelyn was not. She had to admit that he had made a name for himself, and consequently and despite his intentions, for his family, but that could not even begin to compare to the Trevelyans or the Vaels. Not even Josephine had that privilege. Cullen was a good man, and even with all his flaws and personal traumas, Josephine was certain he would someday make a woman very happy, but in her opinion the future of Evelyn, and therefore of the Inquisition, would be better in the hands of Sebastian than in Cullen's.

The true reason behind Josephine's logic, though, was her education. She came from a noble family of Antiva and had been a bard, knowing and learning the Game from a young age and sharing practically all her years in the company of other nobles. Usually, and especially in Orlais where she spent much of her time, nobles did not marry commoners. They might share a bed on scandalous occasions, and even take lovers out of wedlock more than once, but they never engaged with those outside the confines of the Great Game, striving instead for the better candidate to climb up the nobility hierarchy, gaining power and recognition. Josephine liked the Commander, but her education and the poisonous influences of Orlais had shaped her from a child who dreamt to find love as pure and perfect as in the pages of the romantic novels she used to steal from her aunt, to an adult who still sighed from those stories, only to close her heart to them like closing a good book, knowing they belonged among the printed pages and had no place in the real world.

Despite all that, and no matter how much she told herself this was for the best, the discouraged expression on Cullen's face was piercing her heart like a dagger. He looked completely wrecked, his brow constantly downturned, but not in the same way it had been that afternoon. In fact, even the murderous glint in his eye when she'd left his office would have been preferable. Now his brows lifted slightly above the bridge of his nose, a constant reminder of the heartache from which he was suffering, and she was unable to ignore it anymore, nor confuse it with worry. And to make matters even worse, Josephine had been keenly aware since morning that the notion of Sebastian appearing at any time to steal Evelyn's attention visibly pained Cullen, realizing that the one for whom he held affections was progressively drifting further and further out of his reach.

After only a short while of waiting, there was a ruckus at the back of the hall in front of one of the side doors, calling everyone's attention to that area whether they liked it or not.

If the Commander had been morose up until then, the moment Sebastian entered the room and immediately found Evelyn in the crowd, grabbing her hand for a kiss while she regaled him with a beautiful smile, Cullen's face became the quintessential picture of complete devastation. She was smiling at him in a way that seemed reminiscent to the way she'd looked when they'd first kissed, a subtle blend of bashfulness and adoration playing over her features. It wasn't, of course, not by a long shot, but for Cullen it certainly felt like it, blind to the reality of what Evelyn's eyes were truly saying. Josephine's words echoed in his mind, almost sentencing him to witness the downfall of all his romantic illusions and hopes at the hand of a man whom he'd thought would be everything _but_ a threat to his desires, let alone the thief of the only woman he had ever truly cared for in his life.

Uncomfortable, Cullen looked around, trying to focus in anything but the spectacle of Evelyn and Sebastian.

On his left, he watched as Sera was stealing an unusual looking bread (probably one of the many requests Josephine had placed with the cooks to honor Starkhaven's cuisine) from the table without bothering to pause her discussion with Blackwall for the sake of propriety or Josephine's blood pressure, which would undoubtedly be rising exponentially with each mouthful of crumbs that fell from the elf at her words. Not that he knew for sure; Josephine might just as well be distracted by the charming prince. He wasn't about to look in their direction any time soon, though, fearful he'd witness something that would twist the dagger further.

To his right, Solas was, to his surprise, talking with Dorian _voluntarily_ as the two looked at Evelyn critically. They didn't seem to be disagreeing with one another, which was certainly a first.

All of a sudden, the two men turned simultaneously to glance back at Cullen with a mixture of annoyance and worry that sent shivers down the Commander's spine. He knew Solas had been helping Evelyn calm the anchor after he'd attacked her, but he hadn't been sure whether the elf knew what had transpired between them beforehand. At least, not until now… For now, the clear disappointment on Solas' face showed Cullen that the elf not only was aware of the situation, but was evidently glad the Inquisitor had decided to keep her distance from him. On the other hand, Dorian was still a mystery. Knowing Solas, it was highly improbable that the Tevinter had found out about the situation from him, given that the elf was not one for gossip. But Dorian usually spent his days in the library, and considering the way Evelyn had fled from Cullen after he'd smote her, it was probable that the mage overheard when she'd asked Solas for help.

Their stares had become so intense that Cullen was growing visibly uncomfortable, and with the hope that he could at least explain to them what had happened, since he seemed unable to reach Evelyn, he decided he would go to the pair of mages and do his best to make them understand the depths of his remorseful regret.

He didn't make it to them though.

When the Commander had barely dodged past two people in the sea of attendants standing between himself and the mages, he heard Sera's exaggerated guffaw coming from his back. Knowing Sera's reputation, most people just let her be and ignored the noise despite the scene she was providing. The elf was doubled over, one hand holding her ribs while the other pointed forward, trying desperately to fill her lungs with enough air to both breathe and feed her laughter.

-He's wearing a frigging skirt!- Sera was snorting almost out of control, and despite Josephine's murderous look and her frenzied, yet concealed hand gestures, Blackwall was doing nothing to calm his friend.

For a moment, Cullen actually considered seizing the general surprise Sera had provided to reach Solas and Dorian without as much inconvenience as there would have been a second ago, when everyone in his path was trying to get his attention, but a quick glance toward the place where the two men had stood a second ago revealed that they had probably also found Sera's hysteria distracting enough to investigate what had provoked it.

With his plans ruined, Cullen decided to go back to where the elf was still gasping with hilarity, leaning on Blackwall's shoulder to keep herself upright, her unending guffaws making her weak in the knees.

From this new perspective, Cullen was able to see what all the fuss was about. At the end of a now open path, Sebastian was talking to Evelyn conversationally, purposefully ignoring Sera's annoying mirth as well as her accusatory finger shakily pointing at him while the elf tried in vain to keep it steady despite the laughing attack. From head to waist, Sebastian looked exactly as was expected of him, a black formal tunic with his red and black tartan fly plaid, held at heart's height with Andraste's pin, perfect hair and charming smile, but from the waist down laid Sera's source of amusement. The Prince was wearing a traditional Starkhavener kilt in the same red and black colors of his fly plaid, complemented with the respective sporran that had taken the place of his usual Andraste belt buckle, covering the Prince's modesty. The look ended with black socks at knee height and polished ghillies. Cullen was also able to see that his advisor, Adair, matched the Prince's look when he also entered the room just a few seconds after Cullen reached Sera and Blackwall, receiving a complementary slap on his shoulder when the elf also used him to help her remain upright instead of falling to the floor in a heap of giddy hilarity.

Inwardly, Cullen had to suppress a chuckle himself. He knew of Starkhaven's traditional garment, but he had never seen one in person, and even when no one could have said that Sebastian looked less of a man in that outfit, the Prince's exposed knees framed by what any person who didn't know any better would call a skirt, combined with Sera's contagious laughter, made it hard to keep a stoic face, though he fought to do just that rather than join her wholeheartedly.

To make things even more difficult, Blackwall looked at Cullen from over Sera's bent back and whispered not so subtly.

-Shouldn't you have to shave to wear one of those?

That did it. Imagining the Prince and his advisor with one foot perched on the edge of a bathtub, running a razor blade over their hairy legs covered in shaving cream, made it impossible to fully suppress the chuckle that was now trying to surface for the second time, and finally Cullen snorted softly before he could lower his face to the floor to hide his amusement.

When he raised his head again, he found Blackwall looking at him humorously, as if still waiting for an answer. Cullen simply shrugged his shoulders and made to reply in the lowest tone he could manage.

-And people used to say _I_ wore skirts when I was a templar.

That remark, and the fact that she had also pushed that particular theory to the point of exhaustion, provoked yet another bout of laughter from Sera, one that was even higher than the last and impossible to ignore, causing a considerable number of heads to turn toward them, many of which were judgmental and even offended by Sera's display. Evidently, the Prince had not only Josephine's blessing, but also those of most nobles currently residing in Skyhold, even if they were privately as amused by Sebastian's look as Sera was.

Josephine was among many of whom turned to stare at them, but whereas others were trying to dissimulate their condemnation under an air of superiority that characterized the most annoying lot among the nobles (mainly from Orlais), hers were all but shooting bolts of lightning at the elf, completely enraged. In a few seconds, her attention was drawn toward Cullen, without toning down the condemnetion in her eyes, aparently deciding to make him see reason, considering the archer currently clinging to the Commander's shoulder was not going to pay any attention to her no matter what she did.

Instead of the indignant personal berating he was expecting, almost certain that the ambassador was going to storm toward them at any moment, Josephine surprised him when she let her eyes deliver the message for her, as clear as if she had shouted it in his face: _Find a way to shut her up or get rid of her_. In an instant, Cullen realized he ought to heed her silent request, lest he be forced to face yet another uncomfortable and personally painful scolding by the Ambassador regarding how everyone should clear Sebastian's path of anything that might risk his blossoming relationship with the Inquisitor.

A rebellious part of him was tempted to do just the opposite. Josephine might want to lead the Prince to a place where he would irrevocably end up falling for Evelyn (and she for him), but Cullen prayed for the reverse, despite that, even having met her less than twenty four hours ago, the Prince's eyes told that he was well in that exact track. One that, knowing Evelyn's ability to charm anyone without even lifting a finger, was impossible to undo.

It took only one look back at the end of the hall to kill any revelry Cullen might have, though. Evelyn was also looking at them plainly, but contrary to Josephine's murderous glare, she was completely appalled, and her unease and shame were growing by the second.

 _She wants to impress him_ , Cullen thought as his heart hit the floor, and immediately moved to straighten Sera, who was now so bent in half that she could practically touch the floor easily with a hand.

-Come on now, Sera. Stop this.

The elf, however, either did not feel like stopping or couldn't bring her hysterics under control, and when Cullen looked back, he saw Josephine walking toward them, hellfire in her green eyes. By the way she snappily approached, ignoring the nobles around her (something that he would have never thought to see her do), Cullen thought she might lose it with Sera, as well as him and Blackwall for good measure, right in front of everyone in the main hall. Miraculously, or more probably because she was afraid of creating a scene in the Prince's presence, she kept it together and instead hissed between clenched teeth.

-Make her _desist_ ; she is offending our guests.

Cullen glanced over her shoulder to where Sebastian was still talking to Evey. The Prince looked anything _but_ offended. In fact, he seemed like he couldn't care less for Sera, instead focused entirely on his conversation with the Inquisitor, using the general ruckus the elf provoked as a perfect excuse to lean over Evelyn's shoulder and whisper whatever he was telling her, instead of talking casually and respecting the minimal distance that was appropriate, a distance that Cullen would have been delighted to teach him, albeit a bit more violently considering how fervently he wanted to erase that complacent smile on the Prince's lips.

As for Adair, the advisor was too preoccupied with refilling his glass with more wine to care about Sera's fashion critique.

Still, none of that meant Josephine was going to cease in her demands, so Cullen thought of a solution that would not only remove Sera, but also himself from the picture, avoiding the uncomfortable situation of watching the Prince prey upon the woman he desired. Maybe he could even use Sera as an excuse to skip dinner altogether.

-I'll remove her.- He began to grab the elf's arm with every intention of leading her outside, but before he could take a single step toward the foyer, the ambassador raised her hand to stop him, staring at him as if he had proposed to kill her outright.

-What?! No, unthinkable! You can't retire now; you must be here at all times!

Cullen froze in place, not so much for the excessively dramatic tone of her statement, but because in that precise moment the idea of Josephine being a sadistic torturer invaded his mind, all before he could remind himself that she really had no inkling how much the mere idea of Evelyn being courted in front of his eyes, without him being able to do anything to prevent it, pained him.

Josephine, of course, took this as meek compliance and turned to Blackwall, currently standing stiffly next to Sera and looking at the Antivan attentively.

-Ser Blackwall, would you be so kind as to lead Sera out to get some fresh air? She seems to be feeling unwell,- she said in a more normal tone, giving everyone eavesdropping an excuse to dismiss this incident in the exact way she intended it to be remembered, as just a crazy, uncivilized elf laughing over nothing due to Maker knew what.

-I'm no Ser, my lady, but whatever you need, I'll be happy to oblige.- And after an inept bow that still made Josephine smile and blush lightly, the warden took hold of the elf's arm and did as she had requested.

With that, Sera was gone, along with Cullen's excuse to spare himself the hardship that the night certainly held in store for him.

He was still in a daze when he felt Josephine linking her arm to his.

-Now, let's head back. I heard Ambassador Adair is eager to speak to you about our troupes' training.

 _Maker, have mercy on me_. It was the last and only thing Cullen thought before she guided him near the main table, where both their guests were conversing with Evelyn.

It wouldn't be the last time he would ask his god for mercy, even when the deity seemed determined to ignore him each and every time.

oOo

Three long hours later, Cullen found himself walking absently to Herald's Rest after a quick stop at his office to shed his armor. The Commander usually didn't drink in the company of others, and rarely anything stronger than a glass of light wine. He had enough headaches as it was with the lyrium withdrawal, but after three hours of watching Josephine's plan to bring Sebastian and Evelyn together develop beautifully before his very eyes, he needed to drown his sorrows in something strong. Something that would send him directly into the Fade the moment his head touched his pillow, without an interlude to be alone with his thoughts or to analyze whether Evelyn's smile for the Prince had been merely for the sake of politeness, or if there was something more behind it, like a glimmer of hope to achieve with Sebastian what Cullen had destroyed when he smote her, killing everything he had tried to build.

 _Maker, please, no,_ he thought while entering the tavern, decided to order the strongest drink on hand, down it in one go, and retire to his room, perhaps with the rest of the bottle to accompany him. Anything but dwelling on how his love life had taken a wrong turn after finally believing things were progressing in a way he had not dared to dream before he'd met her.

-Hey, Cullen! Come join us for a drink, just like old times!

As per usual, Hawke needed a lesson in discretion. At his shout, all the patrons in the tavern turned in time to glance at Cullen, who was now standing in the door looking at Hawke rather ominously, likely due to the company the Champion was keeping in that precise moment. Varric was now the logical one ever since Hawke had arrived at Skyhold, both of them meeting in the night to share a drink or two and even play card games against the Chargers, honoring the tradition they had back in Kirkwall. But now, Sebastian had joined them down the path of memory lane, and was currently seated next to Hawke, a drink in hand and giving Cullen his best winning smile, while the Champion kept waiving his arm as if Cullen needed more guidance to reach their table beyond than shouting he had already done.

Slowly, training his features to those of complete indifference, he walked toward the table, where Hawke was already pointing to Cabot, indicating he needed a refill and probably a drink for the Commander, as well. Knowing perfectly well that an ale would not be enough for him, especially now that Sebastian was going to be a compulsory drinking companion for the evening, he gently took hold of one of the tavern girl's arms and requested the strongest liquor on offer instead of whatever Hawke had ordered, specifying that he did not desire any of The Iron Bull's horrid concoctions, no matter how much stronger they were.

-Hawke. Varric. Your Highness,- Cullen greeted them all in turn once he reached the Champion's table.

-Oh, such formality! Give it a rest, Cullen, loosen up!- Hawke grinned, gesturing to an available chair, unfortunately right next to Sebastian's. -What do you say? A drink for old times' sake?

Cullen was not in the mood, and even though he could not reject Hawke's offer lest he wanted to hear Josephine first thing tomorrow morning screaming at him once again about invitations and rites of nobility, he did not sit immediately, almost as if proving a point, that he would not just yield to Sebastian's will as everyone else had so readily done. That Hawke was the one inviting him was unimportant; the mere presence of the Prince made him feel like if he sat when requested, he would just be indulging Sebastian instead of the Champion.

-We never had a drink together in Kirkwall, Hawke,- was instead his answer, raising one eyebrow while looking at the man, who rolled his eyes, unimpressed.

-Then, come join us just like we _should_ have done in the old days.- And he once again pointed to the chair beside Sebastian's.

 _This day just keeps getting better and better_ , Cullen grimaced before then sitting begrudgingly.

-Ah, Lenorah, my dear, you are a sight for sore, and _thirsty_ , eyes.- The pun was terrible and incredibly inaccurate. How could Hawke's eyes be thirsty? But it worked nevertheless, the poor girl blushing furiously and focusing on Hawke's lips for a little too long before placing each of their drinks in front of them and walking away.

-I tell you Varric, I'm having a piece of that cake sooner or later. Sooner rather than later, if you ask me,- the Champion added, obviously appraising the girl's plump posterior while biting his lower lip.

-You always did have a sweet tooth, Hawke. Just try not to choke on it this time.

At this, Hawke's smile grew, still watching Lenorah walk away, and absently patted Varric's back as if he liked the dwarf's suggestion even more than his original idea.

The spell was broken when Sebastian's calm voice reached his friend.

-And please try not to hurt the poor girl.

- _Girl?_ She is at _least_ twenty, you know,- the Champion stated in his defense, looking at Sebastian with what Cullen thought was an accusatory gaze, as if the Prince had no business condemning his actions, being the perpetrator of worse behavior, himself. Or maybe that was just Cullen's jealousy feeding into that look, or his burning need to find some flaw in a man who seemed to have none. Or it could have even been the first large swig of liquor reaching his nearly empty stomach and pairing beautifully with more than two nights of hardly any sleep at all, affecting him and making him see things where there were none.

-I'm only saying that for your sake, and our host's peace of mind,- Sebastian smiled.

Hawke snorted then, completely amused.

-Evey doesn't mind. I've been here for _months_ and I've hardly heard any complains. You're just looking to score points.

-One day, you'll realize the Maker has better plans for you than just whoring around, Hawke.

-I'm rather unimpressed with His plans for me _so_ far, Sebastian. Actually, now that you mention it, I'd love to sit and talk to Him about a couple of them.- The Prince seemed to find that less funny than what Hawke had intended, so the Champion raised both hands in a peaceful gesture. -Until that day, though, I'm planning on following in the steps of greater men than me, and finding a beautiful _lass_ with whom I can settle in and have lots of little noble babies.- And he raised his mug toward the Prince, toasting to that.

Sebastian smiled radiantly at that, just a hint of mischief behind his eyes, and even though Cullen thought he might've understood part of their hidden message, a part that he loathed more and more with each passing minute, he couldn't help but feel he was missing a great deal of it.

The Prince didn't give him time to think it through, though, instead diverting his attention to Varric, who was currently shuffling a deck of cards.

-Speaking of which, I'm surprised your parents didn't marry you off, Varric. When I heard you were here, too, I was certain I would find you with a child on each bended knee, telling them stories of their father's wild adventures.

By the look on Varric's face, if he had been drinking then, he would have choked on it, and judging by the way he cleared his throat, he might have done exactly that, albeit only with his own saliva.

-You might still see that, but not with _my_ children, and not while I'm sober. Unless this guy here has a couple of kids we don't know about.- Both the Prince and Varric ignored Hawke's affected complaint at that last snide comment. -Besides, I was still in diapers when my father died. I'm sure he was getting around to it.- He raised his mug and looked at it as if he could see the past through the beer's foamy head. -Well, I guess I owe the Maker a drink for that.

Sebastian chose to ignore that last bit, as well as Cullen and Hawke's presence pressing the matter with the dwarf. Cullen didn't mind; the longer he was ignored, the better. He finished his first drink and ordered a refill from Lenorah to Hawke's delight at the prospect of seeing the woman come and go again, and he was already feeling the effects of the liquor on his muscles. It wouldn't take much longer at this rate, the alcohol and the delayed need for a good night's rest making him more susceptible to the lull of the drink. At last, a good use for sleep deprivation.

-And your brother never married either, right? Wasn't he concerned about continuing the Tethras line?

All this talk was souring Varric's night, and his answer reflected it.

- _Your_ family is dead and you're still _celibate_ , right? Or have your advisors managed to talk you out of that, already?

Sebastian's eyes shone with something similar to debauchery for a second, this time Cullen was sure of it. That had definitely not been a construct of his clouded mind, the Prince having found some kind of personal pleasure in what Varric had said. But it was so fleeting that he was not sure if anyone else had caught it.

-They haven't, but they have not insisted on it lately, either. Rest assured, though, my friend: the Vael line will continue, eventually.

In that moment, Lenorah arrived with the Commander's refill and was trapped in an instant by Hawke's arms encircling her waist, pulling her body toward his own. Then the Champion raised his mug and announced,

-Here's to the end of abstinence, then!- Although instead of focusing on the Prince as he exclaimed, he looked purposely and insinuatingly at the tavern girl, who in place giggled nervously and slapped his hand softly. She left after that, but not before winking back at the Champion, who was now shaking the hand she had smacked as if it truly stung him, even when his eyes seemed to be instead focused on the enticing idea of Lenorah in his bed, giggling in his ear, his hand itching due to a much more interesting kind of slap.

The whole scene was so surreal to Cullen, so opposed to what he had come here looking for, that he was not able to repress a grunt even as he too was drinking, more to add to his noble endeavor of getting drunk as quickly as possible than to accompany Hawke's toast.

When a couple of minutes passed for the most part in companionable silence, Hawke still in a haze thinking of his upcoming night, Varric shuffling the cards, and Sebastian lost in thought, Cullen considered downing his drink in one go and leaving the tavern as soon as possible, when Hawke's voice interrupted him.

-What about you, Cullen? Any plans in the foreseeable future for the pitter patter of little feet running through your command office?

Cullen couldn't help but tense, and noticeably so, which told Hawke more than the Commander had intended him to know.

-That much, huh? Well, hurry up before all the women in Skyhold decide they want to try their luck at becoming the next Princess of Starkhaven.

Once again, Cullen found himself wanting to kill someone to whom he had nothing against just a couple of days ago. Hawke couldn't have known how much his words had hit the target, or how much truth laid behind them. Not because he thought Evelyn was dreaming of becoming a princess (Maker, he needed to believe she was not so far out of reach, yet), but the image Hawke's words unwittingly painted were not the most enticing for him.

Not so long ago, the keep had been filled with rumors of the Commander and the Inquisitor kissing on the battlements, and now those same rumors that he had not precisely enjoyed at the time had been pushed aside in the hopes of seeing the Inquisitor and the Prince of Starkhaven united, the idea of himself and Evelyn as a couple forgotten and discarded as nothing but unfounded gossip that would never grown into more now that Sebastian Vael was in the picture.

Tomorrow, he would blame it on the alcohol and the physical and mental exhaustion, mixed with poorly timed words from someone who didn't know any better. In the morning, he would even ask for the corresponding forgiveness if his next words or his attitude offended Hawke. But now, he needed to leave before he had something else to regret.

Almost as if it were liquid courage, he gulped the rest of his drink in fell swoop.

-My duty is what has accompanied me all these years, and what will remain always at my side, Hawke. That is all I see in my future. Now, if you'll excuse me.

And then he left, leaving a couple of coins behind as payment for his drink.

At the table, Hawke thanked the Maker that he had restrained his tongue when he had been about to interrupt the Commander at the idea of duty as his only companion in life with an accusatory "boooooring!", for before Cullen turned and left, Hawke was sure he had seen the purest form of heartbreaking agony in the Commander's eyes.

oOo

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **I'm honored that you have followed this story for 39 chapters already, and I'm proud that we (myself and my beta) had managed to deliver one chapter per week without failing once. Sadly that is about to change, at least for the next week. Since I began my new semester in the University I've been having troubles writing more than the next chapter (I usually have a few in storage) and now I'm on exams' season and without a second to spare so I'm very sorry to announce that there won't be a chapter to publish on October 9th. That means it will be 15 days from today until I publish Chapter 40. I'm sorry, I tried my best but I couldn't write AND study at the same time. I hope you can understand, and I'll see you in 15 days.**


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40: Of Princes and Dragons

Twelve days.

Twelve days since he last kissed her. Eleven since Sebastian arrived to complicate their lives. Nine days since he last saw her.

At first the idea had seemed logical: Take the Prince to where it all began. First to Haven, which had been fully reestablished after the restorations months ago, then to the Hinterlands, where the Inquisition established its first settlement, the Winterwatch Tower. He would meet and talk to everyone, even if Josephine fretted that introducing Speaker Anais to Sebastian might not be the best idea. Usually one minute away from spouting blasphemy or calling the Chant a lie, she could easily offend the Prince with her heresy. It was up to Evelyn to promise her that the former Chantry sister had supposedly "seen the light" after the closure of the rift there, and rarely spoke ill of the Chantry since... or so she had hoped. Cullen could only imagine how uncomfortable the situation might turn for Evey if she found herself immersed in the middle of a theological discussion between those two. The Inquisitor had faith in the Maker, but speaking with fanatics was not her idea of a harmonious afternoon, and sometimes both Anais and Sebastian could qualify as such, in the Commander's opinion.

But for Cullen to believe that all of this was just a demonstration of the Inquisition's origins for Sebastian was fooling himself. The idea had come from Josephine and Adair, and that on its own exposed what truly lied behind this journey. Skyhold was already impressed by the new power couple, and now it was time to show the Hinterlands the influential image of the Inquisition and Starkhaven joined as one, their leaders mounted side by side, visiting the refugees and gracing them with their presence.

And ever since she departed, he had found each day to be harder than the last, plagued by doubt of what would happen between them, the silence of her absence, and the uncertainty of whether Evelyn would come back to announce Josephine and Adair's success, or just arrive as she usually did, free and kind, tired but satisfied, and with a smile that filled Cullen's spirit more times than not. But whichever of those versions was going to be the one Skyhold would greet when she finally returned was yet a mystery. One that, no matter what, nobody seemed truly able to unravel.

The ravens did not have much to report either. Only one arrived four days ago with news that they would spend the rest of their day in the Hinterlands, instead of the five hours anticipated. At first they thought it might have something to do with the weather, but reports ruled this out when Leliana's agents sent word from the area. It should have been seven days' travel, no more, no less. Cullen had made the calculations himself: five hours to Haven, and then the Hinterlands would receive them only four days after her departure. Once they were there, just half a day to show the Prince around, since they didn't have to travel beyond the Winterwatch Tower considering everyone from Corporal Vale to fake Sister Tanner, along with Clemence the tranquil, Ritts the scout, Enchanter Ellandra, to the agents residing in that same tower, Anais and Berand, had been warned about their visit and had gathered there in advance. And finally, when all of that was off the Inquisitor's back, the journey straight back to Skyhold should only last another three days.

But she had gone and done whatever she wanted. Again.

Or perhaps it wasn't her fault entirely. Cullen had feared this. The Hinterlands were controlled, but from time to time they still read reports of apostate mages or defected templars fighting their personal battles, and even though the troupes there had everything on a tight rein, he knew both Evelyn and Hawke would be unable to ignore it. She cared too much to do anything else, and the Champion (despite also being a caring man) had been battling boredom from months now and craved action so desperately that he had practically forced his presence on what otherwise would have been a fairly intimate trip for Evelyn and Sebastian. Naturally, they were not completely alone; Cullen had made sure of that, both to prevent any major hiccups and to avoid giving Sebastian yet another perfect opportunity to progress their relationship, and so he had sent Vale's Irregulars to escort them.

The men needed to take leave, anyway. Most of them had left their families behind, and with Sebastian's visit delaying any other important missions they might have, and with their training long finished, Cullen deemed this a suitable opportunity to allow for some leisure time to visit their loved ones. At the same time, they could stand in as the Herald's personal guard, as well as mood dampeners in case the Prince decided that a walk under the moon with the Inquisitor was a lovely idea, since Cullen was sure Hawke wouldn't try to hinder them should that scenario play out. He and Sebastian were long friends, and the Commander knew the Champion supported the Prince's obvious intentions. That was exactly why the Irregulars had explicit orders not to lose sight of them, and to pass that same order to those relieving them for the journey back. If anyone asked, Cullen would say that he had done what was best for the Inquisition and Starkhaven's security. For that privilege, he was even inclined to ignore Hawke's new name for the Hinterlands' agents, thought he was sure Vale wouldn't exactly appreciate the Champion calling _his_ men "Vael's Irregulars".

Being as it may, the reality was that Evelyn was two days behind schedule, and that was affecting not only Cullen's duties, but his peace of mind, thousands of scenarios unfolding in dreams and waking hours alike, painting possibilities that exceeded his will to withstand.

And now to make things worse, his job was accumulating at a dangerous rate, piles and piles of unread reports and unanswered letters building up with each passing hour, and Cullen wasn't able to do a single thing to make them disappear. His mind simply refused to cooperate, drifting instead to wherever Evey was, focused to the point of distraction on drawing closer to whom he feared was lost to him more and more with each passing day.

It was in the midst of that vortex of desperation that mid morning found Cullen, currently trying to read the same line in a report for the fourth time with no success, acknowledging the first few words only to have his thoughts drift off the parchment without fail, making the whole attempt completely futile. He was about to begin the fifth reading when the horn sounded from the gates, signaling the Inquisitor's approach.

The guard hadn't yet ended the second blast when Rylen entered his office, gasping for breath. He'd opened the door with too much force, almost slamming it against the opposite wall, and leaned on the door frame trying to catch his second wind.

-Commander, Ser!- A gulp of air. -The Prince,- another gulp, -and the Inquisitor!- A final intake of breath, the biggest one yet, and then he straightened. -They've arrived with the Champion and the Irregulars!

Cullen was already abandoning the report he had been trying to decipher a moment ago, desperately fighting to feign both calm at the fact that Evelyn had finally come back, and indifference to Rylen's growing obsession with "his Prince". He understood the man was a Starkhavener and that Sebastian was his reigning monarch, but the constant talk of the Prince and the almost fawning adoration that his captain had developed for anything and everything Sebastian did was yet another thorn in his side. First he had to come and take the woman he admired, and now the respect of his men?

But then Rylen's words dawned on him.

-What? Vale's irregulars were supposed to _stay_ in the Hinterlands for leave!

As Cullen walked toward Captain Rylen, the man answered,

-There are women among them, too. Maybe the Inquisitor allowed the men to bring their families here in light of the circumstances?

- _What_ circumstances?- Cullen replied while passing by Rylen and glancing below to the courtyard, where Evelyn was ahead of the group, Sebastian at her side and the Champion one step below.

Save for the commotion people were making and the numerous soldiers and commoners alike gathered in the yard, nothing seemed out of the ordinary...

Until the first line of Irregulars appeared through the gates, pulling a cart behind them with a proudly unveiled and recently polished dragon skull.

oOo

-Are you out of yer _mind_ , lad?! D'ye hae any _idea_ what ye risked, putting yersel' in that kind of danger?!

Adair's voice reverberated through the War Room where Hawke, Evelyn, and Sebastian had been dragged upon arrival once all the advisors had seen the evidence of their little adventure.

-And _you_ , Inquisitor! We are extremely disappointed in you. To put his Highness into such peril! This was supposed to be a diplomatic visit!- Josephine sounded like she was nearly on the brink of tears.

-Sebastian, you are the last of the Vael line. What would have happened if you were killed or injured in the stramash? Why did ye nae think of Starkhaven?- The man was now pacing the room, alternating his stern gaze between Sebastian and the mountain beyond the windows. -Since when did you 'come sae selfish? Ye canny jus' _act_ without measuring the consequences of yer actions, laddie!

He then turned and looked straight at Sebastian, who still managed to look as regal and stoic as ever, while at the same time somewhat resembling a boy being reprimanded by his father for muddying his best dress shirt mere hours before mass.

-You have a duty to your people and your city! And there's _you_ dragging the Lady Inquisitor with ye to hunt a _dragon_ , no less, aye?!- Upon shouting the last outrageous fact, his voice peaked, only to then crash with the weight of his responsibility, making the man's shoulders drop with fatigue. -I thought your impulsive days were behind ye, lad,- he gestured toward Sebastian as if demanding this be the last offense, but his attitude remained that of a man consumed by the events. -Ye didnae even hae proper armor with ye…

At this last statement, Cullen's eyes rounded, realizing the same himself as he remembered that Evelyn too had departed in her casual finery and little else besides the pair of daggers on her back.

But it was Josephine's reaction that was most evident. Hearing yet another reason why their recklessness had been the most absurd and selfish thing the Inquisitor had even done to her, she raised her eyes and looked at them with a blend of complete and utter panic mixed with an anger that would make even the aforementioned dragon to think twice before attacking. She would have been the perfect picture of righteousness if not for the fact that her face had lost all color, turning ashen before their eyes. She seemed to be about to either speak or faint, or both, when Evelyn had apparently decided enough was enough.

-Please, Adair, Josephine,- she looked at the others in turn, obviously trying not to focus too much on Cullen. -Everyone, we were careful. Vale lent us armor, and we fought alongside the Irregulars.

-Nevertheless! It was totally unnecessary and reckless of you! With your permission to speak freely, Inquisitor, it was plain _stupid_!- That did it. Josephine was completely out of sorts if she had resorted to such words for help, which surprised Evelyn and the others so much that the pause gave her an opportunity to further her declaration. -You behaved irresponsibly and foolhardily, and on top of everything, you risked the Prince's life.- She then looked back at the other advisors almost begging them, - _Someone_ should do something about this!

-Is this where we all get sent to our rooms without food? Or is your Ambassador more the spanking type? Should I tell her I've been a naughty boy, too?- Hawke mumbled over Evelyn's shoulder, trying to whisper and failing miserably, instead winning for himself another of Josephine's death glares. -Then again, maybe not.

Josephine turned away, almost whimpering to the other advisors, desperate for aid of any form.

-Hawke, don't help us,- Sebastian muttered. -I feel like a child enough as it is.

It was then, before Josephine could calm herself, that the War Room doors flew open.

-You did _what?!_

The outraged words accompanied the creaking strains of the wood after it had been so thoughtfully kicked wide. And then, following the boot cladded feet, in stepped Cassandra and Bull, the rest of the inner circle not far behind if the ruckus in the corridor was anything to go on.

In a second, the room was chaos. Cassandra berated everyone like a madwoman, supported by Josephine, who was now smiling as the color in her cheeks returning now that she had the Seeker at her side. Varric was patting Hawke's back and already joking with him about the perks of being a bad boy, and Bull was praising them about "that beauty out there on the wagon" with all the enthusiasm that characterized the Qunari when it came to dragons. And in the middle of all of this, Cullen's eyes were piercing a hole in her skull while Evelyn tried in vain to ignore him.

- _Enough!_ \- was the final and inevitable outcome of such a debacle, and as quickly as it had begun, it ended in silence, everyone now staring at Evelyn with faces that went from admiration, to surprise, to complete indignation.

-Everyone get out!- she barked next, effectively dismissing the members of her inner circle between complaints and giggles. When they were once again alone with their advisors, Evelyn turned to look at Josephine.

-Josie, Adair, I understand your concern, but we are _not_ children, nor are we new to danger. The people living near Lady Shayna's Valley came looking for us the minute we arrived. The Fereldan Frostback had killed over fifteen people in the last five days and they were desperate. We had to do something. Now, tell me again, Josephine, how helping them was selfish?- The alluded remained silent, almost as if she were ashamed. -I could not in good conscience leave the problem to someone who had no experience with dragons. As for Sebastian's presence...

He turned his gaze to her tenderly.

-Let me explain that part, Evey.

The gentle familiarity in the Prince's tone struck Cullen like a shot to the heart.

-Adair, when I claimed the throne, you told me that a good leader must first be a good man, willing to face his responsibilities wisely and fairly.- The advisor nodded, remembering his words. -Therefore, in order to honor your teachings, I will not ask for your forgiveness in aiding and supporting Evelyn in this decision.- At the back of the room, Cullen's fists clenched tightly at the revelation that the Prince had actually rallied her toward the encounter instead of making her think twice. -Leaving her to accomplish this alone was unthinkable, and it would have done a poor service to Starkhaven and our alliance had I instead cowered away from it, putting her life at risk to shield my own.

-And for that, I thank you, Sebastian,- was Evelyn's response after no one showed any sign of chiming in.

Then, in full view of everyone, Sebastian bowed before her and took her hand in his, kissing it so softly and sweetly that it bordered on inappropriate for a gentleman.

-You have nothing to thank me for, my lady. My bow, and my life, is yours.

oOo

The meeting dissolved quickly thereafter, and the three adventurers parted ways to go to their respective rooms and tidy themselves for lunch, while the others gathered at the tables, where the food had already been set out.

Lunch took little time in contrast to the long hours their dinners had stretched to ever since their guests had arrived, but even with their table long since cleaned and the people coming and going, taking turns at dishing out their earned meal, some still remained to drink a hot beverage and talk about nothings, enjoying the mildness of Skyhold's days.

And that's where time found Evelyn and Dorian, drinking their coffee and tea respectively and talking about the events of the morning. Nevertheless, while Evelyn was focused on their conversation, Dorian was instead looking at Sebastian, who was both talking to Adair in the far corner of the room and looking at the Inquisitor in a way that spoke volumes.

Amused, the Tevinter waited just a second longer before he nudged her and discreetly inclined his head toward the Prince. When Evelyn turned and found his eyes trained on her, she immediately blushed, to which the Prince answered by raising his glass of whiskey to her, greeting her from a distance.

At her side, Dorian sighed.

-You know, if I didn't love you, I would utterly hate you.

She looked back at him in confusion until the mage once again raised his meticulously groomed brows toward Sebastian, and added,

-You always take the good ones, Evey dear.

Remembering who had been Dorian's last "good one", she thought, _For all the good it did me._

When he heard no reply, the altus kept talking, now half closing his eyes while staring at Sebastian, as if assessing a work of art hanging on the wall of a study.

-Did I hear you correctly? He has brothers?

There it was: Dorian's predatory stare and preliminary findings before he laid out a hunting plan. Evelyn almost regretted bursting his bubble... Almost.

-No, he doesn't, unfortunately. Not anymore.- As she was about to say something rather tragic, her demeanor changed accordingly without even realizing.- His whole family was murdered, some years ago.

Dorian's preferred sense of humor, on the other hand, was fairly black, and instead of adopting the expected attitude that their talk demanded, he sighed and sulked, gloating in misery.

-I just can't catch a break.- Then his spirits lifted, ever a resourceful man. -Well, I suppose I'll have to fall back on my original plan.- And he turned as he sipped his tea, only to give her his best smile a second later. -Pray tell, my dear, what was your younger brother's name again?

Evelyn paused for a second, considering the idea in all seriousness.

-You know, if you _did_ manage to seduce Caleb, I'd tie a bow to his head and leave him on your doorstep, myself.- She looked at the people gathering in the main hall, lost in thought. -He has a past that would put Sebastian's to shame.

But when she turned, Dorian was also completely lost, staring at the wall in front of them and humming to himself.

-Dorian?... Dorian, can you hear me?

oOo

Almost simultaneously, Sebastian was left alone after Josephine insisted that Adair come meet a baroness whom had assured her she had a close relationship on her cousin's side to Adair's mother's side of the family. For his part, the Prince was happy to be left out of such things, instead thinking about approaching Evelyn and asking her to take another walk with him along the ramparts, but finally deciding against it when a laugh reached him from her table, where she was happily talking to her mage friend.

A tactical retreat then was the decided course of action. Maker, how he wanted to speak with her, more so with every passing day, finding himself inexplicably and unbearably drawn to her kind heart, her witty humor, her lovely mind, as well as the perfect and delicate exterior that housed all her wonderful qualities. Sometimes, though, giving a woman space brought forth more benefits than constantly vying for her attention. He had carefully settled the foundations of what had naturally become a plan to win her affections (much to Josephine and Adair's delight, he suspected) and now patience was paramount if he wanted to reap the sweet benefits of what he had dutifully sown.

The Commander, on the other hand, had other ideas. Relying on his superior knowledge of Skyhold's layout, he casually intercepted Sebastian when the Prince was well on his way to his chambers.

Cullen had carefully waited until the Prince had relative solitude before approaching him, and now, when Adair and Josephine were far enough away that they couldn't hear their conversation, he seized the opportunity, thanking the Maker for his rare change of luck.

Evelyn's words in the War Room had been convincing, and Sebastian's answers had certainly been charming (repulsively so), but he still had a couple of things that he needed to clarify with the Prince that could never be said in the company of others, lest he wanted to be accused of overstepping his place, especially from Josephine. Whatever he said as the Commander in the War Room would inevitably stir tensions between their guests and the Inquisition, but what he did as Cullen was another matter entirely.

And so it was that before Sebastian took the second turn in the exterior corridor that would bring him to the second floor of Skyhold's main hall, he found the Commander leaning on the railing, casually blocking his path.

Cullen seemed tense, and his body language alerted Sebastian that this was not just a casual encounter. The Commander had purposely been waiting for him.

-Your Highness. May I have a word in private?

-Please, Cullen, there is no need for formalities, I...

-I would prefer it this way, your Highness, if you don't mind.- Sebastian nodded almost imperceptibly, allowing him to maintain the social protocol. -It concerns the Inquisitor and your recent... escapade.

Sebastian could almost see the quotation marks around the last word, as well as detect a hidden disdain, as if it left a bad taste in the Commander's mouth when he'd uttered it.

-I thought everything had been clarified in the War Room?

The Prince was aware that he was stepping into dangerous territory. He liked Cullen, and thought him a good and noble man, but he also knew he could be a ferocious warrior and a resentful follower, both things that needed to be treaded carefully. And that was without even considering the fact that he suspected the Commander harbored deeper, more intimate inclinations toward his superior than purely of those of a fighter for the cause.

-Not entirely. You see,- he pulled himself up from the railing and faced the Prince directly, piercing him with his hard gaze, sunray gold soundlessly battling pristine zircon blue, -what you do with your life is your decision. If you die, Starkhaven loses a ruler. A regretful event, no doubt, but one that is, ultimately, a relatively easy fix. After all… we both know that no man is irreplaceable.- He waited in silence until Sebastian acknowledged his statement.

-The Maker teaches us that we are all the same, and even when life and birth rights are set aside from one another, we are all his children… Equals in his eyes, but eventually replaced by those who come after us when we part to serve at his side.

-Exactly, but what you neglect to understand, I'm afraid, is that there is currently _one_ ,- he emphasized, holding up a single gloved finger between them intimidatingly, -exception to the rule… Evelyn Trevelyan _is_ irreplaceable, Sebastian.

The Prince did not comment on his sudden drop of protocol, understanding that feelings were getting the better of the Commander.

-No matter how she insists on telling everyone otherwise, she is unique and paramount to the continuation of our meaningless existences. She is the carrier of our salvation.

His eyes were so focused on Sebastian's that the Prince believed if he tried to break the stare, he might cause the Commander to snap. It was evident by Cullen's stiff posture that he was reaching the limits of his patience, and even if a part of Sebastian thought he understood where the Commander was coming from, he did not want to provoke him unnecessarily. This was a man torn between his duty and his heart, and such pure feelings were something worthy of respect.

-Not just because she was chosen by Andraste, but because she possesses the only key we have against Corypheus and the closing of the rifts. She had seen the fate Thedas faces without her, and it is as desperate and fleeting as Corypheus' care for our pitiful souls may be.

Then he looked down at the stone floor and took a deep breath, only to look back up with such severity that Sebastian realized what he had seen up until now was only a tamed version of the Commander's true feelings on the issue.

Cullen's last statement came with a bone chilling calm that morphed into righteousness almost indiscernibly.

-So, forgive my forwardness when I tell that, when you toy with her life so casually the way you did in the Hinterlands, you are not only playing with her future, but yours and everyone else's as well. And as long as I still draw breath, I will do whatever it takes to keep her safe, even if it must be from your prideful encouragement.

And with that, Cullen bowed and turned, not waiting long enough for Sebastian to think of an answer in whatever time he had while he walked the half a dozen steps that separated him from the main hall.

When the door closed behind the Commander, Sebastian realized that beneath the logical explanation Cullen had given him laid a meaning far more powerful to the Commander than all the lives of Thedas combined.

Evelyn was indeed irreplaceable, but the anchor and its power had nothing to do with that for Cullen.

With a sigh, the Prince acknowledged another sad fact. Now he was certain that the Commander of the Inquisition, for whom he held great respect and wished no ill, had turned unequivocally into his rival on this quest to win Evelyn's heart.

But Sebastian, the Prince of Starkhaven and not the Chantry Brother, had never been one to step aside when he wanted something.

And he had never wanted a woman as dearly, and as honestly, as he now wanted Inquisitor Trevelyan.


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41: With the Chantry Behind Us

There was no sign of the Inquisitor or the Prince the next morning at breakfast. In fact, the atmosphere was so calm that none would have guessed they were housing such prominent guests, were not for the fact that the main hall was packed with Starkhaven's soldiers, who had arrived that morning to drill with Cullen's men for the rest of the day. That in itself would have been good news for the Commander. Every opportunity to simulate combat for his men in a real and uncontrolled environment with living opponents was more than welcome. If only Evelyn and Sebastian's stark absence hadn't soured his day at its earliest hours.

As the morning went by and the breakfast reached its end, he couldn't stand being in the dark anymore, and decided to ask directly, since remaining silent and attentive to any gossip had been useless.

-Is the Inquisitor feeling ill this morning? I haven't seen her and she rarely misses the morning meal.

He tried his best to sound casual, and considering how Leliana, Josephine, and Cassandra looked back at him, he thought he had gotten away with it, but two of the three women knew better, one more than the other, and it was that woman who answered, her Orlesian accent giving her words an enigmatic tone, as ever.

-Don't worry Commander; she is perfectly fine. She departed with the Prince at first light.

Cullen's throat closed over the scone that he was suddenly swallowing, making him practically feel every single inch of the bread's path until it reached his stomach, as if it had claws and was stubbornly dragging them against his throat.

-And with explicit orders _not_ to look for a fight, no matter what,- added Josephine with a satisfied expression.

Cullen was not so inclined to remain positive after what had happened the day before, and as he voiced his next question, he prayed the Maker that he be mistaken, his heart beating faster.

-Please tell me they took a patrol with them.

- _Guess_ ,- was Cassandra's furious answer. She was almost growling. Apparently Evelyn's escapades were not among her favorites either.

-Maker's Breath! Why did no one inform me? What if she... _they_... come across bandits, or are raided by the Venatori?- He was beginning to lose it and no amount of self control could save him from storming out of the main hall as if they'd told him she had ventured beyond Skyhold's borders. And that was without even considering Sebastian's intentions to take her away from the fortress.

Before he could ask about their destination, though, Varric and Hawke sat one in front of the other, the dwarf moving to stand next to Cullen himself.

-Relax, Curly, Evey is very capable and Sebastian is the best marksman you'll ever find five feet above the floor.- He winked at the last part, only to glance warily over his shoulder the next second, as if sensing an imminent attack.

-What?- said Hawke, looking in the same direction with confusion.

-Bah, nothing. I'm just suddenly very grateful that Sera isn't an early riser.- Then he bent over the table to look at Cassandra, who was currently sitting next to Cullen. -Seeker, I have a treat for you. I've been working on a new romance serial. Care to guess where I got my inspiration?- He winked once again, almost at the same time that Hawke began to whistle.

-If you're using Sebastian's youth as fodder, I imagine it will be a raunchy series.- The Champion turned to look at Cassandra, as well. -You're going to love it!

As if on cue, Cassandra blushed furiously, a grunt her only answer and trying fervently not to glare at the Champion in Josephine's presence. She glanced out the corner of her eye directly at Hawke, who was ginning mischievously, erasing any doubt the Seeker might've held about whether he knew of her affection for spicy literature. Hawke was about to press the matter further when Cullen let his mouth speak his thoughts before considering the consequences, his fork playing with the oatmeal he had been eating before the Prince ruined his appetite... again.

-A former _Chantry_ brother? Yes, of course. I imagine holding hands is rather scandalous behavior for the likes of them.

While mocking Sebastian's upbringing, he was also silently hoping that would be the boldest thing the Prince dared do. Hawke spluttered and almost spat his breakfast in favor of laughing, which did nothing to preserve hope in that arena, though.

-You _really_ don't know?- He was looking at Cullen just as he used to look at Merrill when the elven girl was trying (and failing miserably) to understand a filthy joke. In fact, all of this seemed so similar to those times than in his amusement he failed to notice Cullen glaring at him and waiting for clarification, the spoon lost in the middle of a pile of coagulated oatmeal.

During the following ten minute explanation, Cullen felt as if an invisible force had stolen the seat from under him, making him fall beyond the floor into a bottomless chasm. The things Varric, Hawke, and eventually Leliana, revealed to him about Sebastian's past superseded not only his worst fears, but also most of the lecherous fantasies he had dared to have even when he was a hormonal teenager. If Hawke and Varric were not exaggerating, and according to Leliana's nods they weren't, Sebastian was a beast, no matter how natural Varric was trying to make it sound, recounting Sebastian's most scandalous stories to make Cassandra blush and teasing her whenever she asked Hawke about it. He was purposely ignoring the dwarf's wild tales, but still able to hear him taunt her with things like, "I could've told you that, Seeker... In perfect detail and with thrilling narrative, I might add," earning the laughs of everyone at the table but Cullen. How could they laugh? This was serious! If all of that was true, Sebastian had performed acts forbidden even by Chantry Laws, and they were laughing as if it was perfectly acceptable to believe that a man like that had changed without fear that his true self would resurface at any given time. Cullen had thought him a pious and overall innocent man who blushed every time Isabella came too close to him, and instead of that, now he was hearing about how the Prince had done such things without so much as batting an eyelash! Back then, Cullen couldn't even set foot in the Blooming Rose to look for his missing men without feeling completely filthy and tainted.

Sebastian was a lascivious, indecent man hiding behind a former Chantry brother's facade, a womanizer with everything in his grasp, just as it had been when he was an adolescent... A wolf in sheep's clothing...

And Evelyn was his latest prey.

oOo

The grove just outside Skyhold had always been stunning, but the spring brought all its wild beauty to the surface, making it breathtakingly beautiful. The first rays of sun were barely touching the new grass and all but illuminating the morning dew, the reddish hues of sunrise covering the landscape and turning the simple, tiny wild flowers into small specs of color that complemented perfectly with the contrasting tones of green from the foliage. To top it all off, the warmth of the sun seemed to have awakened the flowers from their slumber, causing them to release the most enticing aroma. One of them resembled Evelyn's fragrance of choice, turning her into another of those perfect and strong buds that strived to survive in the midst of the harsh mountain climate, claiming this small patch of land as theirs and spreading the life they carried, calling all varieties of small creatures to live in their personal paradise.

An artist would have wept with purest emotion at seeing the way the mountain framed the grove, with its blues and purples blending with the warmer tones of the morning sky and the vibrant greens of the grove, almost as if the Maker Himself had prepared a little piece of heaven for anyone who doubted there was hope for life even in the harshest places. In turn, a musician would have fallen to his knees upon hearing the grove awakening, its birds' trilling, fennecs scampering through the tall grass, and the thin strings of water running down the middle, feeding that life which, taken altogether, created the most masterful symphony.

The location had been Hawke and Varric's suggestion, and at first sight, Sebastian was thankful for having heeded their advice. In truth, he hadn't imagined the Frostback Mountains could hide such a place as this. It was beyond words. The perfect setting. But Evey was the one who, in his humble opinion, made it all the sweeter.

She was dressed simply in a thin white cotton tunic with a delicate silver embroidery that followed the lines of a sober cleavage, which showcased a small hint of her creamy skin, the promise of her breast barely insinuated by the way the fabric draped over her figure loosely, but still clinging in folds over her body due to the softest breeze. She had switched out the beige breaches of her uniform for dark brown riding trousers and a pair of high boots with the barest of heels, enough to slightly change her posture, emphasizing her womanly gait and the curve of her backside. For once, her hair was completely loose and it danced with the wind and the movement of her horse's trot. Her face was devoid of any makeup, as pure as the wonders that surrounded them, almost as if she had grown among it. A goddess of nature.

This last thought made Sebastian's heart quicken pace, leaping in his chest at both the heresy and the surprise it caused him. It had been years since he had taken the Maker's name in vain for the last time, and even if he would have hated himself for doing so in any other situation, Evelyn had proven to be worthy of such blasphemy. He tried to remember when was the last time he had ever thought so highly of any woman, or had desired so fervently to win a lady's affections. He failed completely, and not because his memory had forsaken him, but rather because he was certain there was never such an experience in his past. He had lusted after many women, and taken much more in his arms and into his bed. He had even felt some semblance of affection for a few, but he had never felt the need to demonstrate that he was worthy of a woman's love, as he wanted to, now. Absently he recalled a remark from Adair when they'd received the raven messenger accepting their request to take refuge in Skyhold.

 _Perhaps Holy Andraste has called you to meet your destiny in the hands of her Herald, lad._

He hadn't asked if this was what his and Evelyn's advisors had planned from the start. There was little doubt in his mind that that had been exactly the case, but instead of feeling betrayed for being played in such a manner, he felt grateful for Adair and Josephine's vision. After all, he had acquiesced to the idea of coming to Skyhold despite his suspicions in favor of finding refuge for his men to rest and to satiate his own curiosity over this "Herald of Andraste".

Here they would have the privacy they would never find in Skyhold, and he would be able to tell her what had burned inside him from the last week, no matter how difficult it seemed now that he was actually presented with the chance to do so.

 _Start with something simple_ , he said to himself when their horses stopped in the grove, quickly dismounting and going to her aid, even when he knew she didn't need it.

-Here, let me help you, my lady,- he said, holding her waist softly and feeling how she tensed for a moment, only to slide out of her saddle and, basically, right into his arms.

For the briefest moment they remained there, close to one another, Evelyn between Sebastian and her horse, not quite pressed considering he was acting like a true gentlemen and was standing two steps away from her, but looking at her in a way that made her feel trapped in spirit if not in body. After only a few seconds he stepped back, and she walked away, seemingly to take their basket and have something to eat, since a picnic was Sebastian's primary idea for their excursion.

-I thought our fight with that dragon would make you reconsider referring to me as "my lady",- she said casually while Sebastian unfolded a thick blanket on the grass for them to sit. -After all, how many noblewomen do you know who regularly do that?

Sebastian chuckled and got up to take the basket from her, briefly touching her and seizing the opportunity to look into her eyes while he answered in a soft, almost intimate tone.

-That does not mean you are less deserving.- Only to turn then and place the basket on the blanket were he sat, waiting for her to join him. -More so, if possible.

Evelyn sat across of him and began helping him take the food out of the basket, passing the wine bottle to him.

-Well, the Chantry might not agree.

Sebastian opened the bottle and filled her glass, again looking at her intensely.

-You were made as you are. I have yet to see evidence of the Maker's fallibility. I certainly don't see any in you.- He sipped from his wine glass, still focused on her.

Evelyn in turn lowered her eyes, swirling the drink in her glass almost absently.

-My mother might disagree, as well as Josephine. They have a certain idea of how a Lady should look and act, and I rarely fit that description, nowadays.- She looked down at the twin daggers next to her right foot, then propped her glass on the ground and took a lock of her hair with the tip of her fingers, repressing a grimace when she thought of what both women would say if they saw the split ends there. Lowering the strands, she asked humorously, -If there's something beautiful or delicate in a pair of muddied boots, calloused hands and messy hair, please do enlighten me.

-Well… there's you.

The answer was simple, and in another woman might have even triggered a blush, but in Evey it only made her wheeze out a laugh. Maybe because she wanted to remain oblivious to Sebastian's advances, or because she was honestly too focused on other things to actually realize what the Prince had tried to tell her with that simple statement. Being as it may, in her ignorance she answered in a way that, were Sebastian another man, would have killed the mood he was aiming for completely.

-Isn't that opinion of me almost mandatory to a former Brother of the Chantry? What with the whole "Herald of Andraste" thing?

Even though she was subconsciously sabotaging his plans, Sebastian couldn't help but chuckle.

-Not exactly. You said so yourself: The Chantry is not precisely your best friend at the moment.

-True,- she relented, more relaxed now and sipping her wine before taking a bite from a scone.

-But to answer your question: no, it is not mandatory, and even if it were, I was talking about you, not your title.- She still seemed oblivious to his meaning, so Sebastian sighed internally and decided to take a leap, surprising himself on how nervous he felt.

-What I think of you has nothing to do with the Maker or the Chantry, Evelyn.- She then made the mistake of raising her eyes to him, and was surprised to find him looking at her with a soft and longing smile. -It's you who has captivated me, and I find it hard to believe that you haven't noticed it, yet.- He took her hand then, his heartbeat increasing in speed, to his utter shock, something that hadn't happened before. Not even in his earliest experiences in courting a woman.

He was about to keep going when she interrupted.

-Sebastian...

-No, please, let me get this out,- the Prince said quietly, lowering his gaze to her hand, cradling it between his own. -It's true I am a religious man, but my faith is not what draws me to you. When I came here, I… never expected this.- He placed her hand over his heart so she could feel for herself how fast it was beating.- _This,_ \- he added pressing her hand to his chest and looking back at her in time to see her swallow nervously, -has never happened to me before.- He shook his head, remembering his past and noticing that his nerves were broadening his thick accent. -I was a cynical man who used to think love was nothing but a tale told to people who couldn't see to their bodies' necessities as I did, and instead relied on that illusion to feel like there was something more than the clash of bodies in the throes of passion. Then, when I was in the Chantry, I learned what love truly meant, but I never felt it, myself… Not romantically at the time, but a love based on devotion to those I held most dear to me.

She was now frowning, looking at him in puzzlement, and he realized he may have said too much, too soon.

-I'm not saying I'm in love with you. I am aware that something like that, if both true and pure, requires more than just two weeks of knowing someone but...- He raised her hand to his mouth, softly caressing her fingers with his lips, feeling the softness of her skin. His eyes closed on themselves and he sighed deeply, almost as if trying to take upon her entirely. Once again he looked back at her, lowering her hand and allowing her to reclaim it. -I'm having a hard time thinking I'll be forced to part with you soon, because I feel like being away from you will pain me more than I think would be appropriate to admit.- And, in part to soften the blow of his declaration as well as to calm his nerves, he smiled faintly devilishly at her, admitting silently that taking her away from Skyhold had been a calculated move on his part, but also honestly enough to let her know that, otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to tell her how he felt.

If Sebastian believed he was anxious, he had no idea what he had done to Evelyn's nerves.

She had noticed some insinuations and flirtations on his part before, but knowing his past, she had just assumed that he had fallen into his old habits in those years away from the vigilant eye of the Chantry and its restrictive rules. But now he had confessed, and he left her completely at a lost for what to say.

Deep down, she felt like she should have rejected him at the first sign of any romantic inclinations, the memory of Cullen still too fresh in her mind and her heart to even consider someone else's advances. But where would that leave her? Cullen seemed resigned to leave whatever they'd had behind after the incident in his office, and she couldn't exactly blame him for it, nor was she sure if she really should desire him to do anything else. According to Solas the mark was attached to her irreversibly, and no matter how much she wanted it out of her life, she couldn't do anything to change it, so if Cullen couldn't handle it, if its power was too much for him, he was right to stay away from her. He had been a templar, and in her elation at seeing him return her feelings, she had lost sight of that. The rejection towards magic was too engrained in him to eradicate, and even though she was not a mage herself, the anchor was something that would always stand in their way. So even if her heart still ached for Cullen, he might've very well decided that she was not worth the trouble. After all, in the nearly two weeks since that fateful day, he had only tried to talk to her once in private. Perhaps he had also reached the conclusion that something between them was impossible, because she resembled too similarly the very thing he had been trained to distrust all his life. Yes, he treated the mages in Skyhold kindly and had urged the few templars in the Inquisition to break the barrier that kept them in opposite bands before and instead bond as companions in their cause. But to adopt that practice into his own private life was another thing entirely.

And now this man had come into her life and was asking her to open herself to another possibility, one that, were Cullen not in the picture, she had to admit would have been an attractive one. Sebastian was a good man and a fair ruler; he understood some of the burdens of being in charge of the fate of so many people, and had offered his friendship and support unconditionally. Even now, he was not imposing himself on her. By how he had confessed, and how she had come to meet him in the last days, she knew that if she rejected him, he would not take reprisals against the Inquisition. Aside from all that, she could not say he was unattractive. Quite the contrary actually, and he seemed to be a caring man, one that, after losing everything, was in dire need of finding someone to give his life meaning.

In the eyes of many, Sebastian was perfect, and she was inclined to think he was very close to that. He only had one defect.

He was not Cullen.

The key point was, could she see beyond that?

All of that went through her mind in the span of a few seconds, but her silence was torturing Sebastian, so when almost a full minute had passed, he once again touched her hand, now just across from her crossed legs, forcing her indirectly to look up at him at the contact.

-I know it's a bit much, and I hope you don't think me out of place.

-No, it's not that.- He smiled then, suppressing a sigh of relief that was battling to get out. -I'm just unsure of what to say now.

His smile grew. By the look in her eyes, her uncertainty was not due to her inability on finding a way to reject him without provoking a political conflict. On the contrary, she seemed worried but in a good way, as if she were weighing the pros and cons of the situation, something that Sebastian realized was another thing he liked about her. After all, he knew just as she did that any decision regarding their personal life was not theirs only, but would affect thousands. In a way, they were not completely free to be impulsive in certain aspects of their lives precisely because their existence didn't belong only to them.

Understanding at least part of her turmoil, he brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen forward when she lowered her head again, hiding her face from him, and tucked it behind her ear, softly brushing the tip of his fingers with it.

-Then don't. Whatever time you need is yours to take. I'll wait as long as is necessary if you promise to consider it... To consider us.

Trying very hard to ignore the part of her mind that accused her of being unfaithful, she nodded slowly, the achingly beautiful memory of Cullen smiling at her, pressing his forehead to hers, tugging painfully at her heart.


	42. Chapter 42

**Author's note: For this chapter I borrowed Iron Bull and Solas' chess match from the game. I strongly recommend you use the video with it to follow up the match here**

 **watch?v=Ky19-1fuL2U**

 **oOo**

Chapter 42: Unlucky at gambling...

Donnell was having a bad day. A really bad day.

Being Leliana's messenger was never an easy task. Sister Nightingale usually had him running from one point to another in Skyhold and sometimes beyond just to get her net of spies working accordingly. Donnell was even inclined to admit that said tasks didn't bother him too much. By the end of the day he was usually so drained that his coarse bed seemed like paradise, and used to send him directly into the Fade without a second to spare, but it was all part of the job, and was the best way to work for her without having to risk his neck constantly.

Or so he had thought before she'd sent him to Commander Cullen's office to give him the latest news.

Maker, he felt sorry for the soldiers! The look on that man when he delivered the message had frozen his blood in his veins.

Even now as he walked back to the rookery to give Sister Nightingale his reply, he was unable to shake the memory of their short but intimidating conversation, nor the dire need to divert his course to pray Andraste prevented Leliana from sending him again to the Lion's den..., well, at least now he understood the true meaning of that nickname, though he would have died a happy man without the pleasure of that knowledge.

-Commander, ser, a message from Sister Leliana,- he had said when entering the office, and already noticed how Cullen had scowled, not even bothering about hiding his irritation before urging him to deliver it with a gesture that made poor Donnell lose his voice for a moment, recovering it only after he'd cleared his throat under the attentive and annoyed gaze of the Commander. -She will not be attending to the soirée this afternoon.- The fact that Orlesian words were harder for him than Fereldan ones was not helping his case. -She says you must go. She fears Josephine's feelings will be hurt if you both decline to attend the interlude this week.

By the end of the phrase, he felt a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and even though his Starkhavener accent had thickened due to his nervousness, he had been certain that the worst had passed already.

He was so wrong. In a second, the Commander had gone from watching him in tension, his teeth noticeably grinding and his hands clasped in front of his mouth, to dropping a hand flat against the desk and glaring at the poor messenger in rage.

-Oh, for Andraste's sake, enough with this _interlude_ business; it's a _tea party_! Which I simply do not have time for.- His last statement was accompanied by a clear gesture of dismissal, the Commander immediately going back to the report he had been reading before his arrival.

Unluckily for Donnell, he had express orders to insist, were he to receive this exact response from the Commander, and tough he feared the rage of the Lion, he feared more the cold and treacherous calm of the Nightingale when she was presented with bad news.

-I... err... perhaps you'd be more inclined if you knew that the Prince is invited as well, ser.

What was a desperate attempt to pique the Commander's interest turned out to be even worse. Cullen had raised his eyes slowly from the report and had thrown such a glare toward him that it made Donnell go completely still, almost like a hare assessing the possibility of a successful escape after being cornered by a ferocious predator. In fact, until this moment, when he was almost at the top of the stairs of the rotunda leading to the rookery, he was still not sure if the growl he heard had actually come from the Commander, or had been conjured by his terrified mind.

But there was not time to dwell on it. Leliana was already in sight, and though she had not raised her eyes to him, Donnell knew she had noticed his entry, probably had even known he was coming before he'd even climbed the first flight of stairs. The women had spies spying on her spies, so of course she wouldn't make an exception for her messenger. Besides, it was normal of Leliana to wait until he spoke to look at him, ever the impassive player.

Donnell sighed, preparing himself for what he was sure would come after he reported to her.

-Commander Cullen will not be attending this afternoon's interludes.

Slightly out of character, Leliana couldn't help but raise her head in alarm, looking at him almost as if it was his fault that the Commander had refused.

-What? Tell him he _must_ ,- she said indignantly, only to compose herself in the next moment and grab a forgotten report. She acted as if she didn't care for this matter anymore, a finality in her tone that explicitly left the solution in the hands of Donnell, with express and silent orders to make it right at once. -I cannot be distracted at the moment, and I don't want Josephine's feelings hurt.

The poor messenger was almost afraid to tell her what Cullen had said, but the prospect of facing the Commander again was more frightening. At least with Leliana he could count on the fact that, even if prone to reprisals when angry, she hardly acted against her own people, whereas the Commander... Well, if Jim were to be believed, the man was not to be crossed. He knew, though, that Jim's clumsiness made him a hard guy to deal with, but still he didn't want to try the Commander's patience on his own, and therefore he informed Leliana with a soft, almost frightened tone.

-He doesn't have time for a tea party.

In turn, Lady Nightingale used her favorite adjective to qualify the Commander.

-Stubborn mule.- She then lowered the report and, adopting an almost childish attitude, added, -Fine!- only to fall back in character a second later, the gears in her mind already in motion.- I will arrange for him to be called away at the last minute... for appearances.

Donnell couldn't help it. Deep down he knew that was his cue to go, but the idea of getting involved in the middle of this didn't suit him well. Leliana didn't want to go, and instead had decided to force the Commander to assist, which would mean the man would certainly think she had been scheming with the messenger that had delivered her request earlier that morning... Meaning: Donnell himself... Maker, he should have chosen to work for Lady Josephine instead.

Suddenly, he realized Leliana was talking to him again. Luckily his mind had apparently retained the information without his knowledge and he was able to reconstruct the complete phrase in his head without having to ask her to repeat herself.

-Go to Josephine and tell her Commander Cullen will be taking my place in this afternoon's interlude.

-But... the Commander said...- He hesitated to finish the sentence. Leliana had heard him perfectly before.

-I know what he said,- she answered with a smile, as if that said it all. And in a way, it did, at least for Donnell, who bowed slightly and turned to face the stairs again.

One of the perks of being Leliana's personal messenger was that he hardly ever suffered delays by any noble, all of them knowing that the one to stop was not him, but rather the short haired ebony apostate goddess with the thick Orlesian accent who the Ambassador had as her messenger. What if she was there now? What if she were to attend the interlude and he lost sight of her in her best finery (which Josephine would probably insist on her wearing) just because Sister Nightingale refused to go?

-Maker, I hate my life,- Donnell whispered before knocking on Josephine's office door, already regretting missing the chance to say more than two words to the ambassador's messenger only because his boss seemed determined to ruin his day. The soft voice of the Ambassador reached him a few seconds later allowing him entry, so he did as requested and automatically walked a few steps ahead, still too far from Josephine's desk, but close enough to make it known that he needed to talk to her without interrupting.

Josephine and her messenger seemed to be engrossed in preparations for that afternoon along with other urgent matters, and even when that would also mean he would have to delay bringing back an answer to Leliana, he found that he couldn't care less about that when Waiola was in front of him, full clad in her robes... and Maker, Jasper was right; she _did_ have dimples on her lower back. He could distinguish them even from afar, thanks to the way the robes hugged her figure. The sight was so enticing that it was making him uncomfortable in a way that was far more pleasant than other situations he had found himself immersed in since the start of the day. Unfortunately, that also meant that he couldn't quite repress the soft groan that emerged from his throat when the mage shifted her weight from her right foot to her left, effectively turning her hips toward him.

-Forgive me; I'll be with you in just a moment.

The Ambassador broke the spell at that, or at least diverted his attention long enough to mumble something that resembled, "There's no rush, my lady", probably interpreting the sound he had just made as him clearing his throat discretely.

Being that as it may, he was lucky she had thought that and not caught him openly ogling her messenger, so he decided it best to focus his attention on the window instead of the object of his (and many other soldiers') desire.

-Another letter from Master Tethras?- Waiola asked, her tongue dragging the "r" in the dwarf's name.

-The Merchant's Guild never gives up,- answered Josephine. -What did he do with the last batch of letters?

-Lord Varric was building a small model boat from them when I left.

Donnell couldn't help but chuckle at that, which provoked Waiola to look at him and smile warmly.

-Well, maybe by the end of the month we can name him Commodore of a small fleet,- Josephine added, pointing to the letters with the merchant's guild crest. Laughing softly at her boss' joke and recognizing that as the Ambassador's way of dismissing her, Waiola took the letters and left the office, smiling at Donnell on her way out.

-What can I do for you today, Courier Donnell?

The eluded bowed again, instinctively returning to his duties.

It took him less than five minutes to return to the rookery after he delivered the message, Leliana receiving him with a smile, certain that everything was going according to her plans. When he stood in front of her, she made a gesture with her hand, silently asking him for the message he was tasked to deliver.

-Leliana, the interlude is for us to connect as colleagues and friends, lest we lose sight of shared goals in the fog of,- he made a pause here, already noting how Leliana's face was morphing from calm and joyous to worried and appalled, -petty differences. I am deeply…- he almost regretted delivering the last part, and his tone showed it, for he couldn't help but pause and almost whisper the last word. -…disappointed.

Leliana's eyes flew opened like plates.

-She used to word "disappointed"? _Merde!-_ The last word was heavily charged with the Nightingale's Orlesian accent mixed with true worry.

Having received some of that same treatment while delivering the message, and therefore knowing perfectly how his boss was feeling, Donnell added:

-The Lady Ambassador wields guilt like a knife.

oOo

At five o'clock, Skyhold's enclosed garden was the setting of Josephine's interlude, or as Cullen preferred to call it, a tea party. One that included the presences of _both_ the Commander of the Inquisition's armies and its Spymaster.

Still, the definition was inconsequential, for once he overcame the rage that invaded him when a runner arrived, almost gasping for air and telling him he was urgently requested in Skyhold's garden where the Prince, his advisor, and the Inquisitor awaited him along with Josephine, he realized that despite thinking this was a waste of time, payback was all fair play.

And so it was that, when Cullen arrived at the garden's gazebo, where Josephine was playing host, serving tea with a radiant smile, he had the pleasure of seeing her expression fall for a split second, when the Ambassador lowered her eyes to what he was carrying.

Fortunately for him, the small table and twin chairs that he used weekly with Dorian were still in place, which made his grin widen.

-Your Highness. My Lady Inquisitor,- he bowed first to the couple sitting next to each other and trying very hard to hide the way his jaw had tightened, his teeth silently grinding at the sight of them so close. Then he turned and greeted Adair, using the man's former title as a polite gesture and leaving the female advisors for last. -Commander, Josephine, Leliana.

-I'm not a Commander anymore, lad. Call me Adair..., and I'll call you Cullen?- The man said tentatively, knowing that Cullen had refused to drop formalities with Sebastian before. With him, though, the Commander relented.

-As you like.- He actually smiled faintly, ignoring Leliana's smug grin at seeing him falling into her trap to force him to attend, and quickly added before Josephine had time to stop him, -Your Highness, I believe we have a pending match. Would you care to settle it?

-Wouldn't you rather to sit and enjoy the day, instead?- Josephine intervened, trying to give Sebastian a way out as she engaged Cullen as well. - _Tea_ , Commander?

-Perhaps later, Ambassador... Your Highness?- he smiled, gesturing gallantly toward the vacant table.

-I suppose we can drink tea _and_ play at the same time,- Sebastian replied, trying to find a common ground between Josephine's wishes and Cullen's clear challenge.

Josephine, of course, found herself unable to do anything but to acquiesce to the Prince's wishes, just as the Commander had predicted.

In a moment, the board was set, and in anticipation of the satisfaction that beating Sebastian would bring him, Cullen even indulged the Prince when he beatifically offered the white pieces to him, allowing him to make the first move, as the rules dictated.

Cullen didn't need to scramble for a strategy. He had thought of this game from the moment he'd broached the subject on the morning Sebastian had arrived, so without so much as a pause, and ignoring completely the fresh tea that Josephine had placed beside him, he moved the king's pawn two places ahead.

Smiling, Sebastian mimicked his movement, placing the same pawn two places ahead, effectively trapping the white one.

Cullen tested the waters then, still enjoying the brief silence that had arisen at the sight of them engaged completely in the game. Looking back at Sebastian with the same smile, Cullen moved his bishop's pawn next to the last one.

-King's Gambit,- he said, looking straight to the Prince's eyes for signs of recognizing the term.

-Accepted,- was Sebastian's unsurprising answer before he took a sip of tea with one hand and claimed Cullen's pawn with the other.

The Commander's response was immediate, placing his bishop ahead, two squares to the left of his remaining pawn, convinced that his aggressive strategy was working perfectly… only to witness how Sebastian followed his lead, moving his queen ahead until it aligned with the black pawn, grinning condescendingly.

-Check.

Cullen was not fazed by this. He simply took his king and moved it one place to the right, avoiding Sebastian's check, to which the Prince answered with a pawn advancing two places ahead, dropping it right in the white bishop's path.

The Commander did not fall for the trap that was clear in Sebastian's eyes. The Prince knew he had sacrificed his pawn, and so Sebastian took it without comment as he sipped his tea, Cullen's eyes still fixed on him from across the board.

In turn, the Prince took his knight and placed it in line with the black pawn that was currently in game, watching intently as just a second later, Cullen also moved his knight ahead, dropping it below Sebastian's black pawn, provoking the white queen's retreat until it was standing directly in the black pawn's line.

Cullen's queen's pawn stepped ahead then, the piece just as oblivious as the players of Josephine's nervous and banal chatting in the background, the Commander's mind barely registering how the ambassador's voice was nervously rising in tone.

Sebastian's knight moved to guard his queen then, while Cullen's knight defied it, standing right in front of its dark counterpart, both men watching each other intensely as if they were the knights themselves instead of the players… the irony of the situation, of their pieces battling one another to prevent the Commander from reaching Sebastian's queen, not escaping either of them.

It was the queen who decided the fate of the battle, though, both on the board with Sebastian moving the piece of the monarch ahead and next to his black knight (again, a deeply charged symbolism) and amongst their surroundings, when Evelyn raised from her seat to take Sebastian's previous chair next to Adair, to Josephine's delight at seeing _she_ at least was acting civilized. The Inquisitor's eyes, though, diverted from the Starkhavener advisor from time to time, unable to keep herself totally isolated from the battle of wills developing before them.

-You face a choice, Commander: You either give up your bishop at b5, or the knight at h4.

This time, Cullen did not hide the smug smile once he answered.

-Neither, if you don't mind, Your Highness.- And he moved his white knight next to the black queen.

Apparently, Sebastian was not quite ready for this play, and therefore it took him a couple of seconds to recover his composure at finding the Commander's complacent grin staring at him before then taking one of his pawns and placing it in Cullen's white bishop's path.

-You left your bishop hanging out, Commander.

-And you your knight, Your Highness.- The white pawn answered to his master's wish and stepped two steps ahead, directly in front of the black queen.

Sebastian's black knight answered, retreating to stand in front of the white knight, the pieces once again aligned and facing each other, just like the two men.

Inexplicably, if Sebastian's face was any indication, Cullen moved his tower to the side, now in line with the black queen but staying yet in its row.

The Prince almost couldn't hide his satisfaction at taking Cullen's white bishop with the pawn that had advanced earlier. The Commander didn't seem surprised; being a consumed strategist, he was familiarized with the need to sacrifice a battle to win a war, and so without further commentary he dropped a white pawn two steps ahead, threatening to take the black queen, and purposely smiling devilishly while stealing a glace to his right, were Evelyn was ignoring them as best she could, still engrossed in an inconsequential conversation with Adair and the female advisors.

Sebastian's pleasant look wavered a touch, the Commander's taunt hitting its target, and begrudgingly retreated his black queen, only to find her again threatened when Cullen moved his pawn forward once more.

Just as Evey herself was found surrounded by Adair, Josephine and Leliana, Sebastian's queen had no option but to move forward until she was trapped between both the white knight and two white pawns. It was Cullen's queen's turn to step forward then, surrounding the black pawn close to the black queen, to which Sebastian's answered in kind, retreating his knight to its original place, trying extremely hard to tolerate the glint in Cullen's eyes at seeing that piece step back, leaving the queen behind.

By then, both of them had adopted the knights as their personal representatives, and even though the board had two queens, their attention was divided between only one, sitting at the back and distracted by other unimportant pieces, waiting to see which knight stood victorious.

Emboldened by the black knight's retreat, Cullen decided to announce his next move.

-Bishop takes pawn, threatens queen.

Now Sebastian's queen was surrounded by Cullen's pieces, a precise representation of how Evelyn was always among his men, protected and guarded, and how he would do anything but allow Sebastian to take her away from him. Perfectly aware of the situation, and the disturbingly accurate symbolism that the game was carrying out, Sebastian did the only thing he could and forced his queen to retreat closer to his forces, leading the line of his pawns, but still in front of the white knight.

Cullen's answer was to take his other white knight out in the game, placing it in the line of the white queen, and leaving Sebastian's queen two steps ahead of being captured by this new participant under Cullen's banner.

Not one to surrender, Sebastian took his black bishop and placed it at the front, only one square away from the freshly awakened white knight, who, in the view of his proximity, advanced until it rested next to the aforementioned bishop.

It was Sebastian's queen's turn to take an offensive stance and step forward until it took one of the white pawns that still stood in its original place, ending the move with one of its twins on each side and threatening Cullen's untouched tower at the same time.

Almost in tune, Evelyn got up and took Adair's arm, taking him a few steps ahead where pots of Royal Elfroot and Crystal Grace were blooming beautifully alongside the even rarer Rashvine Nettles, to the delight of the advisor, who was an enthusiastic amateur herbalist.

Cullen then took a calculated risk and willingly left his tower unguarded to favor the white bishop, moving it in front of one of the white knights and one step before its black counterpart.

Sebastian failed to see that the Commander had already spotted the imminent demise of his tower, and instead enjoyed what he thought was an oversight on Cullen's part.

-Black queen takes tower,- he said as he made the move. -Check.

The Prince's eyes almost questioned the Commander for his carelessness, the look there for anyone to see and perfectly caught by Evelyn, who was coming back to her chair as she talked with Adair. Cullen did not pay attention to it, though, even as his entire being was clamoring for him to look back at Evelyn to see on whose side she was on, and instead calmly moved his king one step ahead and away from Sebastian's threat.

The Prince's next move was inevitable.

-Bishop takes tower.

Now Sebastian was frowning, looking at the Commander as he tried to decipher his strategy, so Cullen gave him what he wished. He took a moment to think, even though he knew perfectly well what to do next, and stayed there for the couple of seconds that it took Sebastian to regain his confidence. Then, he moved a white pawn in the middle of both white knights.

-That's an unusual movement,- Sebastian couldn't help but notice aloud.

Cullen just leaned against the back of the chair and shrugged his shoulders.

-Desperate times...- he began, leaving the sentence hanging in the air as if he was not so sure of the effectiveness of the movement.

Confident in his upcoming victory, Sebastian moved one of his knights ahead, proudly eyeing his collection of Cullen's pieces on the side of the board, emboldened by that and momentarily losing sight of his opponent's movements, only looking back at the board when the Commander spoke.

-White knight takes pawn. Check.- And there it was, Cullen's smile making itself present again.

Sebastian's king moved to the side, wary of Cullen's knight's proximity, the tension growing by the second, but the Commander was relentless and made his own queen deliver the threat this time, jumping three places ahead.

-Check again.

-Does anyone want cakes?- interrupted Josephine, sensing the atmosphere was too dense for her liking and for her earlier expectations of this interlude.

It was Cullen who answered, looking calmly at Josephine with a beautiful smile.

-Just one moment, Josephine,- he answered, returning his eyes to the Prince a second later, who was also smiling.

-Black knight takes white queen,- Sebastian said while moving his piece. -You have no towers left, Commander, and you are down to one single bishop.- He paused to take one of Skyhold's famous frilly cakes from the tray that Josephine was still trying to force on them, freeing up the ambassador to offer the sweets to someone else. -That's precisely why I was so surprised when you moved a pawn earlier, without that movement...

Maybe it was Cullen's complacent smile, or maybe the realization hit Sebastian at the same moment he had briefly basked in what he thought was his victory. Cullen would probably never know that and he didn't care, concentrated instead on the eyes of the Prince when he took his bishop and moved it one square ahead, confirming what Sebastian had understood only a second ago.

-Checkmate.

Cullen leaned back in his seat again, an enormous smile on his face, and crossed his arms in front of his chest, staring victoriously at Sebastian.

-An excellent game, Commander. Congratulations are in order.

Cullen nodded in recognition and decided to be magnanimous in his triumph, both to avoid being a poor winner, and to give Josephine something to be happy about after the moment of tension she had just survived.

-You are a worthy opponent, your Highness,- he said, extending a hand over the board.

Sebastian took the hand, chuckling,

-Nonsense! I know when I am bested.

-Don't feel bad; I've played since childhood,- Cullen added, rejoicing slightly in his success. He had already exchanged the corresponding pleasantries, and now it was his right to enjoy Sebastian's defeat.

The Prince did not flinch and looked back at him with the same smile as before.

-I think I'll have to find comfort in that, and in an old proverb from back home.

Already relaxed and still savoring the spoils of his victory, Cullen raised his brow in question, to which the Prince answered.

-"He who is unlucky at gambling is lucky at love."

And the Prince of Starkhaven left to join the others, standing behind Evelyn as he casually placed one hand gently on her back.


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter 43: An Unexpected Visitor

Highever was a relatively peaceful town where not much happened before six in the evening. Like any other coastal town, its people thrived mainly off the fishing and trade that came through the town's harbor. It had been the scene of many important events, and held among the villagers the proud title of "Cradle of Kings and Queens" since Calenhad Theirin, best known as Calenhad the Great, the man who united the Alamarri tribes and became the First King of Ferelden, and Elissa Cousland, the Warden Hero of Ferelden and sitting Queen, were both born and raised in that small Teyrnir. Though humble, the townsfolk prided itself in the role the town had played in the ending of the last Blight, and even more in the fact that their Teyrn, Fergus Cousland, was no less than the brother of the Queen, and therefore brother in law of the King, Alistair Theirin.

After the terrible murder of Teyrn Bryce Cousland and his wife Teyrna Eleanor Cousland at the hands of Rendon Howe's men during the attack on Highever, and the devastation of the Fifth Blight, the town had not seen too much action. In fact, the highest point in the last eleven years had been the coronation of the King and Queen, that mobilized hundreds of townsfolk and the very same Teyrn, and produced a one week celebration where everyone had been invited to visit the Castle to witness where the queen had been born and raised. Nowadays though, Highever remained blessedly quiet, its problems reduced to minor and insignificant quarrels between merchants or harbor security. The greatest worry of its people was the fact that after the death of his wife and son in the attack that also took his parents, Fergus had refused to take another woman in his life. That meant the Teyrn spent most of his nights wandering the castle, usually managing to sleep three or four hours at best, the memory of his late family impervious to time, reliving the moment when a runner caught him after the battle and gave him the news replaying over and over in his mind's eye, blaming himself for leaving them in the hands of the traitor Howe.

So, it was unsurprising that when the messenger arrived to the castle looking for the Teyrn to tell him an envoy from Starkhaven was requesting a healthy and young horse to continue his travels east as soon as possible, he found Fergus in his study, sitting in his chair by the fire, a book all but forgotten in his hand, his eyes fixed on the flames.

The poor boy had run all the way from the docks to report to the Teyrn after the stranger, visibly upset at having to use it, had delivered a scroll with his Highness Prince Sebastian Vael's sigil, requesting assistance in his endeavor to reunite with him only nine days after Fergus had been informed of Sebastian's arrival at Skyhold. It wasn't strange to find him here, considering the reports about the difficult weather on the Waking Sea from Kirkwall to Val Chevin, possibly the reason why this man had decided to dock here and not in Jader where he would be a day on horseback away from the fortress, but the fact that this envoy refused to wait until morning, adamant on acquiring a horse without even resting himself for a few hours before continuing with his voyage was, indeed, upsetting. Apparently, something urged him to take the road again without pause and, considering what the people at Skyhold were dealing with, Fergus didn't even think about hindering the man's mission.

Only twenty minutes later, Fergus was at the edge of the Highever border, trying his best to watch the rider disappear over the road in the blackest night they had seen since the beginning of the month. Absently, the Teyrn wondered if the man would make it out of the Storm Coast without breaking one of his best horse's legs and his own neck to boot.

Three days later, one day too many for his liking, the rider arrived at the Village of Crestwood. He had hardly slept at all in those days, and even though he didn't want to, he knew this time he would have to spend the night there if he wanted to avoid falling from the saddle somewhere on the road.

He had two possibilities: he could either use his connections to Starkhaven's crown and request refuge in Caer Bronach, revealing to the Inquisition's agents his identity, or he could stay in the Village's inn, hoping his appearance wouldn't give him away.

It didn't take him long to opt for the second option. After all, Crestwood was close enough to the Imperial Highway to be a regular stop to anyone searching for that particular road, and the fact that it was also close to the fallen Kinloch Hold also meant that, even if the Circle was closed nowadays, the villagers were accustomed to dealing with strange looking foreigners. Besides, no matter how much he would have liked it, he couldn't change mounts until he arrived at Haven, since Highever's Teyrn had insisted that he take his best horse, therefore condemning him to caretaking for the beast until he was able to secure a safe return to his master.

Still, even with his precautions, he didn't go unnoticed. He was used to it, though. Wherever he went, people always followed him with their eyes, mumbling things that he did not bother to hear anymore. Once it had unnerved him, and even now it still irritated him, but did not make him nervous. Even a young woman's proposition to share his bed was nothing but an annoyance, the biggest worry being that she might follow him to his room against his wishes.

Once inside, he made a few calculations, constantly grunting at the fact that he had been twelve days on the road instead of the ten he had estimated. He had lost time waiting for a merchant ship to help him cross the Waking Sea to Highever, and even another day due to the incessant and extremely tumultuous weather of the Storm Coast, whose name he would never question again. If everything went well, he would be in Skyhold in three days..., two if he forced Cousland's horse a little and neglected his sleep some more. And he would, he decided after a single sip of his wine, leaning against the window in his room. He was required in Skyhold, and he had taken long enough to answer that call.

oOo

While Crestwood's villagers muttered under their breath about the strange rider who had entered their lives that very night, Skyhold whispered for very different reasons.

That afternoon, Ambassador Josephine had organized an interlude, and wagging tongues inferred that the reunion had quickly become an open confrontation between the Commander and the Prince, fighting for intellectual supremacy in a game of chess. Rumors spoke of frowning brows, concentrated eyes and even unrepressed growls between the contestants, and more daring ones said that even though the Commander had arisen victorious in the game, it was Sebastian who donned the biggest smile during the afternoon. Only now, when most people were already in their beds or at the Herald's Rest for one last drink after a much deserved dinner, the fortress was beginning to quiet a little, and Evelyn was able to walk the main hall, truly relaxing and almost forgetting the last hour and a half, where she'd had to sit in front of Josephine's desk first watching the Ambassador pace back and forth in a desperate attempt to calm her nerves after the episode in the garden that afternoon, only to then hear the many ( _many!_ ) variations of countless activities she had planned for the next few days, most of which Evelyn refused completely. No matter what Josephine wanted, she was not organizing a ball in Sebastian's honor. Evelyn didn't care if he was royalty; she was not going to relive what Varric had called "The Orlesian Experience" in her own home.

In the end, she thought she had dissuaded Josie of at least that last idea, but she feared the meaning behind the Ambassador's complacent smile that had answered the negatives of most of the rest of the Antivan's ideas.

Truthfully, she didn't want to even think about that, wishing instead to enjoy a few minutes of relative peace, basking in the spring night and the rare gift they provided for Skyhold, the warm weather allowing her to walk the ramparts without freezing half to death.

It was there that she found Sebastian, leaning on the partially derelict eastern ramparts, watching the lights of the fires his and her troupes' camps had lit during the night. The image was so bizarre, he in his finery standing close to the rubble, the usual vibrant red velvet of his jerkin dulling by the minute as the spring night breeze constantly carried dust in his direction, that she contemplated leaving before he caught sight of her. But then she accidentally kicked a stone with the tip of her boot, alerting him to her presence.

For just a second, he stood there watching her with warm eyes, smiling softly, almost as if her presence comforted him in some way.

-The Maker has smiled on me. I thought I would not see you again for the night after you entered the Ambassador's office.

She made a sound close to a grunt, something so unladylike that he chuckled, reveling in the fact that she always seemed to act per her nature, not thwarted by etiquette or propriety, something that he had come to appreciate as much as it seemed to exasperate Lady Montilyet.

-Don't remind me, please. I swear, if it were up to her, you'd stay here forever.

She had not calculated her words, and therefore his answer took her by surprise.

-I can't say I would put up much resistance if it meant spending my nights like this.

There was no way he hadn't noticed how she tensed when he said that, how her entire body refused to move after that declaration, and how her eyes were now stubbornly fixed on the lights of the camps along the river bank.

-I'm sorry. I made you uncomfortable.- He paused for a moment, debating whether or not he should voice his next thought. Her tightening grip on the ledge of the rampart wall made the decision for him. -I'll leave you alone if you desire.

That made her react. As soon as she had tensed, Evey turned to look at him.

-No, I'm the one who's sorry; you just took me by surprise, that's all. It's just that...- She sighed, frustrated at not being able to accurately express what she was feeling.

-I know.- One of his fingers reached for the tips of hers on the ledge, caressing them almost timidly for such a short time that she actually wondered if she had imagined it. -I promised to give you time, and I'm intent on keeping my word.- He tried to attract her eyes, which had fallen to the floor. When she raised them again to his, he continued, -But even though I am sorry if it made you feel uncomfortable, I'm not sorry for feeling so.

-And what if you end up being sorry for it?- He frowned, not sure of what she meant. -Not today, but someday…- Evey turned to look at the camps below again. -You feel attracted to an idea, a concept,- she looked at her left hand, the anchor dormant in it but still shining dimly, and she caressed it with her right hand. -You don't know what lies beneath, and one day you may think back on this moment and regret everything.

Her voice sounded deeply affected, as if she was trying very strenuously to pronounce each word, forcing it past a lump in her throat, the pain traveling toward him and finding a target in his heart.

Fearful that she might reject him, but unable to refrain himself, he took her chin and turned her face toward him.

-I will never regret meeting you, _leannan_ , nor will I regret what that meant to me.

She looked at him in a way that made his heart race in his chest. Her eyes were shining with emotion, and Sebastian wished he could ask what was it that she truly feared, or what she had lived that made her feel so insecure when presented with the possibility of love. But most of all, he wanted to take all those doubts away by holding her in his arms and kissing her until he replaced whatever pain was ailing her with the touch of his affection.

Instead, he reluctantly released her chin, dropping his hand to blindly and subconsciously search for hers in the dark, before realizing what he was doing and keeping it still at his side.

Time. He had promised her time, he reminded himself over and over.

Later, he couldn't have said how long they had stayed there that way before she frowned, confused.

-What does that mean?- She asked finally. He was actually beginning to search for another way to ask her the same when she clarified, -" _Leannan"…_ What does it mean?

He searched frantically in his mind, realizing what she'd meant a second later, surprising himself at how easily the word had come to his mind.

- _Leannan?-_ She nodded, and he smiled, not sure if the translation would help things or make them worse. -It… means sweetheart.- Once again, she tensed, remaining silent and lowering her eyes.- Have I stepped too far?

This time her smile did not reach her eyes.

-Let's just say you chose the wrong word.

All of a sudden, things made sense. Somewhere, at some point, someone had hurt her, and had used the same word as he as an endearment whenever he'd acted upon his desires. Now that word carried a bitter meaning for her, and he had been unfortunate enough to unknowingly rub salt in what was evidently a still open wound. And at the sight of her pain, he could not help but feel the need to comfort her, at the same time reassuring her of the honesty behind his own words.

-I understand. We all have a past.- He tried to ignore the fact that she still had her eyes fixed on the floor, and instead kept going, his voice soothing. -Between Hawke, Varric, and your lady advisors, I'm under no illusion that my own is a mystery to you, but...- He brushed his fingers with hers, calling her attention back to him, and was surprised when she responded, hooking one of her fingers with his, which led them to hold hands a moment later. -If you give this a chance, though, we may also have a future.- He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, careful not to touch her skin. -Not like my adolescence, nor my years in Kirkwall… Probably not like what you left behind either.- Once again, she seemed tempted to lower her eyes, but he searched for hers with his. -But a future made for us, one that we will both shape. If you'll have me.

He never realized how, but without even meaning to, he found himself leaning toward her, slowly growing closer, almost as if he wanted to give her time to retreat before the inevitable kiss. Maybe it was the fact that he had once again reminded himself of the promise he had made to give her time to consider. Maybe it was the fact that he had never before taken such an action without careful reflection, each and every step of all his conquests a calculated decision, and the fact that she was able to make him act so sincerely on his feelings had a slightly unsettling effect on him. Or maybe it was just the way she trembled when she saw him draw close. Whatever it was, he stopped before reaching her, standing far enough away to give her room, but not so much as to cause her to doubt what he had been about to do.

Despite the failed attempt, the way she had released the breath she had not realized she was holding, how she looked at him behind half lidded eyes, and how her hand slightly twitched while still holding his, made Sebastian's heart leap in his chest, making him believe that there was still hope for them, after all.

oOo

Three days later, the rider passed by Haven without so much as sparing a glace toward the village. His journey had been long enough, and being so close to his destination, he didn't want to be distracted again. He was already behind schedule thanks to a group of bandits that had seen him and thought he was an easy target purely for being alone. Which, in hindsight, was almost funny considering that by now someone had probably discovered the six bodies lying on the shoulder of the Imperial Highway, their deaths swift but not necessarily painless. The worst part had not been the bandits themselves, but the fact that one of them was a mage, and therefore had successfully startled his horse, making him fly inelegantly from the saddle and onto the rough road after a single hand gesture from the bastard. But even though the apostate had not survived to cast another spell, and had been followed closely by his friends directly into the Void, the poor animal had by then sprinted aimlessly, forcing him to spent the next hour tracking the beast and trying his best to convince the poor animal that he was not the enemy, and that he'd lead them to safety. Still, he probably was not the most suitable man to convey calm in another living being, since the horse had been skittish for at least five hours after the incident, walking partially on his side more times than not, and refusing to obey his rider, making him lose precious time and producing an unnecessary delay in an already disturbingly long journey.

That was what made the man avoid Haven altogether, instead burying his heels in the sides of the horse, urging him to close the short distance between the village and the Inquisition's fortress as soon as possible.

It was no surprise then that, when they were spotted by the watchmen in Skyhold's towers, the black horse seemed gray from a distance, a thick layer of foam covering most of his body and clinging to his rider's legs, who did not look much better, already completely drained from the entire ordeal and hoping Sebastian would at least allow him an hour to bathe and eat properly before tracking whatever problem the Prince had uncovered to make him come all the way from Starkhaven.

That wishful thinking, though, was forcibly banished from his mind when the soldier that saw him crossing the bridge decided to announce him.

-Rider!- was the sole word the man shouted, and thirty seconds later the gates opened, giving way to six men of whom stepped out a few feet ahead before stopping altogether, waiting for him to reach them.

-Welcome to Skyhold, stranger. State your business.

The rider grunted then and buried his hand in his cloak, purposely ignoring the clinking sound of hands resting over sheathed swords, readying themselves in case he attacked them.

After only a moment, the man produced the scroll with Sebastian Vael's family crest and delivered it to the guard.

-The Prince is waiting for me,- he said with a deep, tired voice as the only explanation, growing impatient by the minute.

The soldier tried his best to look confident while still doing his job. He took the scroll and, after a short inspection, turned toward a fellow soldier.

-Fetch the Commander and make sure to tell his Highness that someone is asking for him.- Then he turned toward the rider and told him in his best commanding voice, -You'll be allowed into the courtyard if and until they arrive.

Reminding himself that he was, after all, representing Starkhaven as well as the soldiers at the end of the mountain, the rider nodded his thanks and urged his exhausted horse inside past the soldiers, the one tasked with calling the Commander running ahead of them.

When he entered the courtyard and saw Skyhold for the first time, he was amazed by the diversity of the people inside. Everywhere he looked, he saw dwarves, humans, and elves working and talking together, some dressed in the same uniforms he had seen on the soldiers whom escorted him inside, others in civilian garb from various cultures, from the simple Fereldan peasant style to the opulent Orlesian gowns and masks. But what surprised him the most was the fact that there were mages mingling with soldiers, commoners, and even templar knights were talking with each other like there had never existed a conflict between the two factions. It was oddly unsettling for a man like him, and the more he stood there, the more he felt like he was trapped in a weird fade vision that, far from making him feel at ease, was disturbing him at an alarming rate.

Slowly, almost as if he was wary of every movement, he dismounted and backed a few steps away from his horse, whom in turn walked in the other direction, though he couldn't tell if it was due to a primal need to get away from _him_ , or to get as quickly as possible to the watering trough at the side of the entrance, where the poor beast began to drink eagerly, stopping only to grunt and rebuff in his rider's direction, almost as if insulting the man in his own tongue, complaining at him for forcing him to gallop almost nonstop since Crestwood.

But the horse was not the only one speaking behind his back. As usual whenever he entered a new place, the corresponding mumbles and whispers began to spread exponentially, only growing louder when he dropped his hood back and everyone could finally see his face. He was used to it by now, and for the most part he usually ignored it everywhere he went, but there was one women's gasp that irrevocably called his attention and made him turn in time to see a human female in what looked like a form fitting beige uniform, walking briskly toward him.

Only she didn't stop in front of him exactly.

-Maker's Breath! what happened to you? Are you alright?

If he hadn't been looking at her, he would have thought she was asking him; after all, he did look terrible, his hair a complete mess, appearing on the gray side instead of his usual white from the accumulated grime and sweat, clothes ragged and covered in spots of blood courtesy of the dimwitted bandits that tried to rob him, and bathed mostly in his and the horse's perspiration, one of which lingered still in a thick white layer of foam from the back of his leg and up his thighs, making him completely unpresentable. The horse, of course, did not look any better, either. The poor beast had sweated for hours and was now shaking uncontrollably both from the cold the air brought to his moist coat and for the exertion of the trip, making his muscles spasm and the foam that covered his legs drip to the floor almost continuously. He was also rebuffing constantly, his nostrils flaring as quickly as his sides were heaving. In short, both the horse and himself looked like a pair that had escaped from the Void itself.

It was the horse though, and not the man in similar conditions, that was the object of the lady's attention. She was softly patting his side and caressing his snout in an effort to sooth him, which seemed to work since the animal raised his trembling head to her and nudged her chest with it, making her smile softly.

-Who brought you here, sweet thing?- She asked the horse, whom rebuffed again, annoyed to be asked after his rider.

Before the guards nearest to him could answer, the man himself stepped ahead, noticing how the soldiers grew tense.

-That would be me, I'm...

-Fenris?

Both the rider and the woman turned their heads to see the Commander walking down the stairs that led to the ramparts. The soldiers around them gasped and began to look at each other, apparently recognizing the visitor's name.

-Is that you?

-Knight Captain,- the elf nodded as greeting.

Cullen reached them a few seconds later, dismissing his men immediately.

-It's Commander, now, actually.- And he extended his hand to greet the elf, who took it firmly despite his tiredness.

-Ah. Apologies.

-Don't worry about it. We...- he rubbed the back of his neck nervously, -were not expecting you. At least I was not made aware that you were coming.

The woman in the beige uniform then stepped forward, standing next to the Commander, who looked at her as if he had just noticed her presence.

-Inquisitor, forgive me. Please, let me introduce you to Commander Fenris of Starkhaven's forces, and former companion of the Champion of Kirkwall.

Fenris hated introductions, especially when he had to greet nobles, and more especially when said nobles were women. He was not entirely comfortable among them, their mere status bringing up bad memories from a youth spent fulfilling every noble's whim who happened to visit his master, only to realize that this attitude was not exclusive to Tevinter, nor was solely aimed at slaves when, years later, he encountered several of their kind after Hawke moved to Hightown and was therefore involved in highborn intrigues, usually dragging Fenris along with him, if nothing more than to hear him curse in Tevene in front of particularly exasperating aristocrats. He still remembered how one woman had had the gall to ask Hawke how much would it cost to buy Fenris' company for the night, as if the elf had not come a long way from his slave days by the time the woman made the offer (not that she was aware of his past, nor cared about it). He also remembered the way his friend had replied, making that particular noble house swear eternal hatred toward the Hawkes and Amells, receiving only the mage's best smile in return.

In Starkhaven, things had been easier. His duty did not demand that he interact too much with nobility, and even when some festivities forced him to do so, he was rarely approached by anyone, everyone in the city aware of his limited social skills.

Here in Skyhold he was exploring new territory, and that always made him wary of his surroundings. Sebastian had spoken kindly about the Inquisitor in his letter, but then again, that was written almost a fortnight ago, only a few hours after the Prince himself had met her. Even if he trusted Sebastian's ability to judge people, such a short period of time was not, by any means, enough to fully grasp a person's character. Besides, his friend could very well be influenced by the religious title that people in general had bestowed upon her, which in Fenris' opinion was nothing more than propaganda from an organization desperate to gain the peoples' favor. In fact, he was even willing to bet that Varric's hand was behind that particularly extravagant idea. The dwarf was, after all, inclined to that level of drama.

Still, he was, whether he liked it or not, a representative of Starkhaven's ruler, and as such he had to act accordingly, no matter what he previously thought of this woman or her so called proximity to divinity, so when the Commander introduced him, he bowed shortly and stiffly.

-Inquisitor. Excuse the intrusion, but I'm here on Prince Vael's request.

The woman looked at him with a raised brow, almost as if assessing him, probably remembering Hawke and Varric's tales about their adventures, as well as a convoluted and fantastic description from the dwarf that resembled more of one of his most stereotyped characters in his delusional fictions than the elf, himself.

-You horse is exhausted, Commander. When was the last time you let him rest?

It had been many years since Fenris had been rendered mute by surprise, but this woman apparently had achieved it at first greeting. Knowing she was a noble, he was expecting a long and unnecessarily flowery welcoming, one that sang his praises and tried to make him believe that the Inquisitor was honored to meet him, and all that parade of false admiration. Instead, here he was, practically gawking in front of a woman that had ditched all protocol and instead of receiving him as he hated, but was already bitterly accustomed to, was actually badgering him for his apparent disregard for the horse's health. He had to admit that she had caught his interest, if by nothing else for her originality.

Still, life had taught Fenris to be cautious to the point of being accused of paranoia on a fairly regular basis. It had taken him almost a year to fully trust Hawke, who, on top of being a noble and suspiciously willing to help anyone in need, was also a mage. Trevelyan had no magical powers as far as he knew, besides the abilities supposedly given to her by Andraste to close the breach in the sky, but she was still of noble birth, and even though she had certainly turned the balance in her favor with what he had seen so far, she was still a stranger, and therefore someone whom he would distrust until proven worthy of his confidence.

-That would be around the time he threw me.- She didn't reply, instead raising one eyebrow, waiting a broader explanation. -Somewhere after Gherlen's Pass junction.

At first she didn't comment anything else. She just spared another icy glare for him, and called to a soldier.

-Please take this horse to the stables and tell Master Dennet that he was brought to the point of exhaustion, and that I trust him to fed and water him properly.- The man took the bridles and began walking the horse to his new refuge when she stopped him with a panicked look. -Wait! Is that... the Highever sigil?- She looked back at Fenris, her eyes almost shooting bolts of lightning at him. Much to his regret, he had no other option but to nod. -Maker's breath! I'll have to talk to Josephine about this.- And yet again she looked back at the soldier. -Tell that to Master Dennet as well, if you please.

-Yes, my lady.

When she turned to look at Fenris again, she seemed ready to berate him like a child, but fortunately Cullen intervened, only not in time to prevent the elf from thinking that the Herald of Andraste had more edge than he had expected, which in his opinion was another point in her favor.

-The Lady Inquisitor is a knowledgeable equestrian,- the Commander offered as the only explanation, rubbing his forehead tiredly.

Once again, there was no time for her to say anything before someone else entered the picture. This time, though, it was a trio Fenris knew all too well.

-Broody! Welcome to...-Only then did the dwarf notice Evelyn glaring at the elf. -You made her mad _already?_ That has to be a new record,- he smiled and glanced back at Hawke, who chuckled while walking towards them, Sebastian at his side.

-Our dear Fenris has that talent.

As if automatically, Fenris grunted, only to then realize how easily and quickly they had fallen into their usual dynamic. It was just that simple with his friends, almost like time had not passed and they were back in Kirkwall, sharing a drink at the Hanged Man after a trying day... as long as one ignored the leader of the Inquisition, who was standing there, openly hating him at that exact moment.

-Now, give me some love,- was the way Hawke chose to take Fenris out of his musings, coming straight to him to grab up his hand in his and hold them between their chests while he pulled the elf against him with his other arm, capturing him in a fraternal hug whether he liked it or not.

Fenris patted the mage's back as he grunted again.

oOo

The bath had taken the grime and filth from Fenris' body, and the staggering amount of food that the Inquisitor's Ambassador had sent to his room, along with a surprisingly good wine vintage, had calmed his stomach and his nerves, but he was still curious about the reason behind Sebastian's calling. He seemed to be getting along perfectly with the Inquisitor. Too perfectly, if Fenris' impression was correct, and the rest of the organization practically laid rose petals in his path, especially their Ambassador. The people seemed happy with the Prince's presence, if not for anything else than his visit was a cheerful occasion that gave them the opportunity to distract themselves from the constant battle against Corypheus.

According to Varric, the Inquisitor's inner circle was also quite happy about Starkhaven's visit, seeing that it gave them the possibility to train themselves in other fighting techniques, or because it reinforced the Inquisition's power with their joined forces, or just because it had also provided them with a well deserved break from the constants confrontations.

As for the other advisors, Sister Leliana was as reserved as when they encountered her in Kirkwall, and if Fenris' knowledge on the infamous Nightingale was correct, she would remain that way for the rest of their visit. The Commander, though, was another thing entirely. As far as Fenris noticed, the man was the only one not willing to bend backwards to make Sebastian feel at home. Fenris could hardly blame him; he himself behaved much more like Cullen whenever some nobleman visited the palace, usually disturbing his men's regular training schedule with their presence.

What had truly impressed him, however, was that the Commander had seemed to have a change of heart concerning mages since the last time they'd crossed paths. Though Fenris remembered Cullen being distrustful and borderline aggressive with anything regarding mages and magic, he now seemed patently more relaxed among them, which was no small feat considering how wary of them he had been, back in those days. That had been one of the reasons Fenris had liked the man instantly, even when said mistrust was more times than not directed at Hawke. The Commander always observed the Champion closely, which only served as a source of amusement to his friend, who constantly played "Let's Lose the Templars" and practically bragged to Cullen about his ability to win that game again and again.

But though that hospitality could make practically anyone forget that they had been dragged out of their home to another place entirely with disturbing urgency, it didn't work so well on Fenris. He was admittedly grateful Sebastian had allowed him to bathe and eat instead of adding to his misery by making him help with whatever had happened not even a second after he'd arrived, but now he needed answers.

-You haven't said why you called for me, yet.

-They asked after you, and Commander Cullen was eager to discus training techniques with you,- Sebastian answered as if he had only asked Fenris to cross the road to get here.

To that day, the people of Kirkwall could still recall the murderous, savage look of the Champion's elven companion every time something happened to enrage him. Even if the expression wasn't quite as intimidating this time as what many had faced during a confrontation with Fenris, Sebastian knew it wasn't the one he usually received from his friend, either. The fact that the elf's next words came out through clenched teeth only confirmed that feeling.

-You _said_ it was an _emergency_.- Contrary to what many people expected, Fenris had a particular calm when enraged, one that was sure to freeze the blood of anyone on the receiving end of his ire. Some of that deceptive impassivity was now patently noticeable in the elf's words.

-They were extremely insistent! Hawke regaled everyone with tales of our years in Kirkwall and Evelyn was quite curious...- Sebastian stopped in mid explanation, realizing slowly just how ridiculous that sounded.

-So, let me see if I understand you, _Prince_ Sebastian: The entire reason you had me cross land and sea with barely a moment spared to _relieve_ myself on the side of the road, was so you could satisfy a noblewoman's curiosity?

-Not… exactly.

Fenris raised a dark brow as he tried to suppress his temper and give Sebastian time to think.

After what felt like an eternity, the Prince rephrased.

-I've been thinking... You trained Artair. He was your best soldier; that's why you made him your Captain. He's more than capable of relieving you from your duties while you're absent.

-What are you getting at?- Now Fenris was growing wary of Sebastian, and he didn't care for that. The Prince was his friend, and he had spent years learning to trust his friends enough to be comfortable with this gnawing feeling that now, against all his better instincts, told him he should be cautious of what was lurking in Sebastian's mind.

The Prince, for his part, seemed oblivious to his friend's uneasiness, instead looking for the right way to explain his summons. Finally, while absently caressing Andraste's pin on his chest, he turned to look at his friend again.

-What they are doing here, what _Evelyn_ is doing here, will save us all. I swore them that Starkhaven would aid them as best as we can... And you are the best, Fenris.

Fenris' whole existence was shaken. His mind flew back years in the past, where he was nothing but property, a tool, a body to stand between the blades reaching for his master's heart. For a moment, before he could compose himself again, he felt like prey that had fallen to the most keen and devious of all predators, a man who had sold him this image of a merciful brother of the Chantry and a benevolent ruler, only to draw him deeper and deeper into a trap, where he would be once again part of someone's great plan, and nothing more. A thing to trade or give away as convenience dictated. And with that came the fury, the righteous blinding rage, and the need to harm, to kill. In his mind, Sebastian had taken only what he needed from him, his abilities as a warrior, and once Fenris had passed those skills to his army, he was now useless to the Prince.

His markings lit, and when the glow reached Sebastian and the Prince saw his friend glaring at him with homicidal eyes, Fenris knew the man had realized something was seriously wrong.

-You are _selling_ me to them?!

- _What?_ No! Never!- Sebastian couldn't believe his ears. How could he have been so stupid to voice his idea in such a dismissive fashion? Of course Fenris would believe he had been lured into a transaction; he had a lifetime of experience from which to glean and lead him to that conclusion. They'd been friends for over a decade, now, but the horrors Fenris had survived had lasted almost twice as long, and they were still deeply ingrained in the elf's psyche and soul, like a taint surfacing in the moments he felt more vulnerable, spurred on by fear.

Fenris' markings were still aglow, but their intensity had diminished. Their bearer, though, still looked ready to pounce on Sebastian at the smallest sign of treason. His heart would break, both men knew that, but if cornered and faced with the idea of going back to a slave's existence, Fenris would attack and probably lose part of his soul in the process, sacrificing that vulnerable part of him in the hopes of keeping the one thing he still had if his friends betrayed him: his very freedom.

-Please, friend, let me explain. It's not at all what you think.

- _Talk_.- The word was as cold as ice, and as deep as a wolf's growl.

-I would _never_ force you to do anything against your wishes, but they need all the help they can get. You are the best warrior I know, and even Cullen admits you have abilities he hasn't found in any other. I thought perhaps you could help them to learn some of them, as you did with our people. Our troupes will even remain to assist you.- Fenris' wary expression remained, but his markings had faded back to their dormant state. Seeing this, Sebastian stepped forward. -With your help, the Inquisition will be unstoppable.

-…How long?

-Two months, I believe. By then, the fastest learners among them will have learned enough to teach the others.- He reached for both their wine glasses and refilled them, giving one to Fenris. -I would stay, as well, but you know why I can't. Still, I need to feel I've done something for them to repay their gracious hospitality, and I know it's unfair to ask you to do that for me, but...- He lowered his eyes to his glass, swirling the wine and watching it dance below the rim.

Pieces were falling into place in Fenris' mind, and though he had never seen Sebastian like this, he felt he was beginning to understand where his friend's worries had originated.

Slowly, he took a sip of his wine, still holding an eye on the Prince from the edge of his glass, only to lower it back down and raise his eyebrow again, this time with a hint of sardonic amusement.

-You want me to train their army... or her?

Sebastian's hand went to his forehead, rubbing it tiredly.

-I want her to be safe, and since I am unable to travel at her side as I did with Hawke...

-You want to feel like you did everything in your power to prevent her death.

Sebastian nodded, almost defeated.

-There's too much at stake to do otherwise.

Fenris knew there was more there than what Sebastian was revealing to him. This was beyond the fate of Thedas or the need to serve the Chantry. Sebastian Vael, Starkhaven's former hellion, "the night's devil" as most taverns still called him while they thought no ears close to the Prince could hear them, once a womanizer, had begun to care for a woman.

They remained that way for a while, both drinking in silence in each other's company.

Fenris had never been a man prone to small talk, and the Prince was pondering the pros and cons of being completely sincere with his friend. Finally, after careful consideration, Sebastian posed a seemingly offhand question.

-What do you think of the Inquisitor?

-I think she despises me,- was Fenris' answer, short and sharp as usual, and completely effective in relaxing the Prince, who chuckled.

-I'm inclined to agree with you. She's very fond of horses, and you nearly killed one.

-Your letter said it was urgent.- Each word came in its own time, a small pause between them to emphasize Sebastian's role in the horse's plight and the awful first impression he'd left.

-I know, I know; I'm sorry.- Though heartfelt, the apology came with a smile that almost denied Sebastian's honesty. After all, he couldn't hide the fact that he had been as amused as Hawke was when he saw the way Evelyn was glowering at Fenris, as if ready to slay him on the spot. The difference between the Champion and the Prince, though, was that Sebastian knew how to disguise it better. -I'll be sure to tell her that. But you still haven't answered my question.

Fenris considered his reply for a few seconds before offering a simple answer.

-She is... different.

-That she is, quite the unique woman.- The Prince's voice sounded almost dreamy then. -Perhaps the kind of uniqueness I've been in searching of.

The elf nodded, that simple phrase confirming what he had suspected, both from Sebastian's previous words and from the way he had seen the Prince react in the Inquisitor's presence, remaining at her side and smiling at her almost constantly, with a warmth in his eyes he had never seen in his friend before.

-I see,- was, nevertheless, his only reply.

Sebastian was not expecting anything else; he knew these things made Fenris predominantly uncomfortable, having been alone all his life. He was aware of a few dalliances the elf had had in the years since they returned together to Starkhaven to reclaim Sebastian's throne, but he also knew that, had Fenris ever experienced something deeper and more meaningful, he would have come to him for advice, being just about the only person in Starkhaven the elf trusted completely as a friend and confidant. In fact, he had already done that on several, less happy occasions. In the years they had spent together, Fenris had managed to make peace with his past, and much of that was thanks to the private talks they shared, where the former slave had opened up to him, narrating such atrocious physical and mental abuses that had proven to be quite the challenge to listen to. The only consolation resided in the fact that the elf seemed to grow stronger with each tale of Danarius' perversions, that as if by voicing them, Fenris was able to bury them and move forward.

Each man lost in his own thoughts, one still wondering about Sebastian's revelation, and the other reflecting on their friendship and the importance of it in his life, fell back into silence.

After a while, the Prince stood up.

-I should let you rest, my friend. Please consider my request, and my apology.

Fenris couldn't help it and, despite the lingering annoyances of his arduous journey and how frightened he had been when he thought Sebastian had betrayed him, offered his friend a crooked smile.

He had never seen Sebastian like that in all the years since he had met him, and he was willing to let those details slip in deference to the tumultuous confusion his friend seemed to be immersed in, which made him think that Sebastian's sudden need to leave him alone was not only to give him time to rest, but also to allow him some time to do that as well. Or maybe he was just eager to go to her again.

Either way was fine by him. They had already discussed what they needed, and now the only thing that remained was for him to mull over what Sebastian had requested of him, and all the implications that held not only for him personally, but for his men back at Starkhaven.

Already thinking precisely about that, he didn't notice he had nodded to his friend, and that he was forgetting something until Sebastian's hand rested on the doorknob.

-Wait.- When the Prince turned again, Fenris picked through his rucksack, searching for something.

After a handful of seconds, he produced a small package covered in a coarse white fabric. He then unwrapped it and gave Sebastian the small red box that laid inside.

-Adair sent a messenger crow before I left Starkhaven to tell me you needed this.

Sebastian took the box silently. His eyes had grown large, and he was looking at it with a mixture of surprise and sadness. But beneath that, deep down where only someone who knew him as well as Fenris could see, laid something else: a hint of tenderness.

Despite feeling that this was a meaningful moment for his friend, Fenris couldn't help his curiosity.

-What is it?

Sebastian opened the box before speaking, its content hidden to the elf, who had to wait the span of a few more breaths to find out the truth resting inside the tiny old coffret.

-It's… my grandmother's wedding ring.


	44. Chapter 44

**Thank you to my lovely beta Melicious Intent for the idea for Cullen and Sebastian intervention in the celebrations (keeping it vague to avoid spoilers ;) )**

oOo

Chapter 44: Marriage

Evelyn had never truly given as much thought to marriage as she now was. Men had proposed before, of course; being the daughter of a Bann, it was inevitable after all, and now bearing the title of Inquisitor, things had not exactly improved. She'd lost count of all the proposals Josephine had left on her desk that she had dismissed as nothing more than an inconvenience.

But now Sebastian Vael, Prince of Starkhaven, had proposed.

He had begged her to forgive him even as he had breached the subject, fully aware that it was something of a shock after only eighteen days of knowing one another. And furthermore, he knew he had promised her time, and that he was asking her this three days _after_ said promise, but the night before they'd received news that the storms in the Waking Sea had calmed down, so it was decided that the Prince, Adair, and twenty of their men would be departing the morning of the third day, leaving Fenris and the rest of their forces behind to bolster the Inquisition's army.

-So, as you can see, time is running out for me to do this properly, not to mention in person…

And then he had knelt before her, asking her to be his bride and offering his grandmother's ring as proof of his intentions.

Everything had happened so suddenly that after his departure, she found herself fighting to understand how it had all begun.

The message announcing the end of storm seasons had arrived while they were having dinner, and she remembered Sebastian had looked miserable as he read it, so much so that after dinner was over, he had excused himself and had retired to his rooms, looking for the solitude the walls provided. Back then she hadn't understood why he had been so sullen, but now she realized he had gone there to carefully consider his proposal, preparing for the possibility of asking for her hand that very night.

It was only a couple of hours later when she had found him waiting for her, standing beside the door leading to her room.

-Sebastian? What are you doing here so late?

Inexplicably, her words sounded harsher than what she had intended, but the surprise had gotten the better of her. They had been in Skyhold for eighteen, count them, eighteen days now, and she was desperate to get back to the road, the impossibility of doing so a constant source of conflict between herself and Josephine when she would enter the Ambassador's office and beg her to let her go out and do her job. Starkhaven could stay if they wanted; she just needed to resume the closing of the rifts.

It hadn't worked, and that had made her irritable.

-I know, and I beg your forgiveness, but this seems to be the only way I can talk to you without prying eyes and ears around us.

He seemed incredibly serious, yet despite that his choice of words made her laugh.

-If you really think Leliana's agents won't hear us here, you obviously don't know much about her.

Sebastian smiled and, as if using her clarification as an excuse, stepped closer to her, as if he could prevent himself from being overheard with that simple action.

-Her reputation precedes her; I'm well aware of her abilities. That's why I was hoping you could give me a moment of your time alone,- he said, glancing briefly toward the door of her room.

She'd doubted for a moment. Since their arrival to Skyhold, Cullen had posted guards at her door, and no matter how many times she had requested their removal, the Commander had insisted it was for her own good, promising the men would not violate her privacy in any way. Still, she had never had the need for that privacy before. Her life as Inquisitor was fairly open, and she rarely heard rumors of an intimate nature that had foundations in truth. Now, though, she was certain that allowing Sebastian to join her in her room, even if it was just for a quick talk, would raise such a scandal that surely everyone would be talking (and speculating) about it the next morning at breakfast.

All of this made her hesitate long enough for Sebastian to add, with true worry in his tone,

-I wouldn't request such a thing if it wasn't important.

She faltered for another second, and then an idea sprung to mind. Maybe, just maybe, she could solve this without having to invite him up to her room. Josephine would hate it if she found out, but there was nothing that said she had to.

-If it's privacy you're after, I know just the place.

She led him to the small, secluded library she had discovered shortly after arriving at Skyhold. Since none but Solas and herself frequented that area, she had not asked anyone to tend to it after choosing a few pairs of hands to help her tidy up the first time, and it was usually filled with a thin layer of dust no matter how carefully she closed the door after visiting.

Little did she know Sebastian's intentions. And when he took a knee, she found herself in the middle of a dingy old library with a man ruining his best breeches without a second thought, all to ask her to be his wife.

She had almost panicked, an inexplicable fear rising from her gut to her heart, making her blood pound in her veins as if she were running full speed away from Corypheus. He'd noticed her panic and once again had acted like a perfect gentlemen by taking her hand, placing the little red box with Starkhaven's crest in her palm, and kissing her knuckles when she had closed her hand around it. Then he had simply said she could have all the time she needed to think, that he would wait as long as she required, and that her answer could come in whatever way she wanted: by raven, by messenger, or she could even ask him to come back so she might give it to him personally. Whatever she desired, she could have it if it was within his reach to give it to her.

And at that moment, facing a man who was looking at her with such tenderness, she had done a poor job of finding good reasons for why a marriage between them was a bad idea. That is, reasons beyond the fact that he was not Cullen.

She hadn't said yes, but then again, she hadn't said no, either. She just took the little box and studied the ring for a moment, her shocked mind in desperate need to step back and process what had just happened. In all her years, Evey never imagined that the first marriage proposal she was inclined to consider would be in such a discordant setting, and somehow, the less than romantic setting only added to the surreal situation.

Even if she disregarded the aching of her heart at the idea of accepting and forgetting all about Cullen, as well as that part of her that thought, despite Sebastian being her best option and that he might actually make her happy, she feared marriage to the Prince would only result in the same disastrous results as her brief relationship with the Commander. Still, bringing up valid reasons proved to be a challenge, and so when she did finally say something, it sounded stupid even to her.

-You don't know me at all! As far as you know, I could hoard the covers, or skip Chantry services!

Sebastian rose from his place on the floor and stood before her, laughing without sparing a glance down to his now dusty knees.

-I usually sleep with several covers as it is. You can take as much as you want, and I'm positive I'll still have enough.- She smiled faintly, finding comfort in the fact that no matter how ridiculous her excuses were, he seemed willing to indulge her to calm her nerves. -As for skipping services, you do far more in the Maker's name than most attendees.

-I haven't precisely been a beacon of hope, Sebastian. Corypheus attacked Haven to get to me. People died because of me.

-And more would have died if you hadn't stayed behind to save them.

She huffed, reaching the conclusion that had been lurking in her mind since she'd met him.

-Why do I get the feeling you have an answer for everything I could say?

His smile softened, and he seemed to be consciously fighting the urge to take her hand, instead resting his own on the desk at their side just a few inches from hers.

When he spoke again, his voice was deep and full of meaning.

-Because I want you, and that means you could hardly possess a flaw that could deter me in my pursuit for your affection.

She chuckled bitterly. Cullen had yearned for her company for a long time, and when he'd finally received it, he had been quickly disappointed.

-You don't know what you're asking.- She lowered her gaze, and just as Sebastian tended to do, he searched for her eyes, lowering his head until she raised her face to his again.

-I don't?

-No. To start with, I am the Inquisitor; I can't just become a princess and leave everything behind.- When she made a small pause, Sebastian seized on the momentary silence to reassure her on the subject.

-I would never ask you to neglect your duties as Inquisitor.

-That's not all.- She ran both hands through her hair, ruining her hairdo as she drew her fingernails all the way down to the nape of her neck. She was nervous and had no idea how to bring up the next topic, but it was something they needed to address if she was even going to consider his proposal.

-You'll want an heir, I imagine.

That obviously had taken Sebastian by surprise, and he took a second to breathe and consider, his face morphing from concern to amusement a moment later.

-Once, I would have suggested a chaste marriage,- he raised one of his eyebrows and slightly shrugged his right shoulder, as though dismissing the virtuous ideals of his past and realizing they were not only too much to ask, but also outlandish in their position. -But as the sitting ruler, that is no longer possible. So… yes.- When her eyes widened in alarm, he quickly placed his hand over hers on the desk's surface and rushed to clarify. - _Eventually_ , when we both feel that it's time.- His thumb caressed the back of her hand. -Evelyn, I would never dream of pressuring you. I understand you don't know me well enough,- he said, taking her hand in his, -but if you'll let me, if you give me the chance, it's my hope and my prayer that you will warm to me…- His face said it all: he thought her rejection laid primarily in the idea that she didn't find him attractive.

-It's not what you think.- She took a deep breath, knowing this was a sensitive topic not only for him to hear, but for her to discuss. -Intimacy of any kind, with me, means facing the reason why I became the Inquisitor in the first place.- She disentangled their hands and took off her left glove. -You probably think I'm Andraste's Chosen One,- her raised brows and the roll of her eyes practically put the air quotes around that title, -her Herald, as some insist on calling me, a woman touched by the Maker's Bride.- Again, she sighed nervously. -But you would be wrong.- She rubbed her forehead with the back of a hand, not sure if she felt unease or not by the fact that the Prince was not showing signs of interrupting her. -Josephine would kill me if she knew I am telling you this, but _this,_ \- she raised her left hand, showing the soft glow of the green mark on her palm, -was not "bestowed unto me by Andraste". This power belongs to Corypheus and his orb. I interrupted his ritual to become a god and unknowingly stole his power.- She shook her head. -Andraste had nothing to do with this… This was a mistake.

For what felt like an eternity, the silence hung over them, her mind quickly assuring her that Sebastian's next move in light of this revelation would be to take back his ring as well as his proposal.

But then the Prince utterly surprised her.

-It doesn't matter that she didn't bless you with the anchor personally. I'm also aware that she did not stir the sea and command the storm that forced us to seek shelter in your fortress. Still, I have faith that she guided _you_ to the temple, and not someone else, for a reason, just as she brought _me_ to you for a reason.

And then he did something that made her heart beat furiously in her chest: He took her left hand and placed a soft kiss over the mark there, only to then touch her face with his other hand, his thumb caressing her cheekbone.

-I'm not asking you to be my wife because I believe you are touched by the Maker's Bride. It is _you_ I care for, not your title.

She struggled past the lump that had formed in her throat.

-You would share your life with a woman that bears the mark of a darkspawn magister?

His answer was immediate.

-No.

She sighed, surprising herself at the feeling of sadness at his answer, until he bared his soul to her.

-I would share my life with the woman who has filled my every waking thought since I first met her.

oOo

The next day, Josephine had somehow worked miracles, and by the time they were supposed to have lunch, they were deeply engrossed in a myriad of activities on the first day of a two day celebration to honor the Prince and his men, and to wish them a safe journey home.

The ambassador had wanted to organize a joust, but since Adair had told them the night before when the message arrived that they would be leaving on the morning of the third day, she was forced to give up on the idea of such a grand display and settled for a few fighting competitions, dances, music and feasts.

Luckily, she had possessed enough forethought to ask the best seamstress in Skyhold to create a magnificent dress for the Inquisitor, using her ballgown as a model, knowing perfectly well that Evelyn would refuse to endure another fitting after the hours Josephine had forced her to do so when they were preparing for Halamshiral.

And so it was that on the second day of the celebrations, Evelyn Trevelyan walked among the crowd to gasps and whispers everywhere, clad in a breathtakingly beautiful light blue satin dress with lace sleeves whose design, in Evelyn's opinion, resembled too closely the gown Andraste wore in most representations, especially if she took into account that her hair was completely loose and that, if not for her profuse refusal, Josephine would have sent her out there wearing a golden circlet on her head. She supposed she should at least be grateful that her Ambassador had not commissioned the dress to be made in white, and that the Inquisition's sigil at the end of the V shaped neckline marked a difference between the simple, unembellished dress of Andraste.

As usual, her advisors were waiting for her at the top of the stairs leading to the courtyard. By Josephine's orders, all three of them, as well as her inner circle, were dressed in the same finery they'd adorned in Halamshiral.

If a sleepless night thinking about Sebastian's proposition had not been enough to wreak havoc on Evelyn's nerves, Cullen's unabashed stare when he saw her in that dress put her over the top. He had looked at her from head to toe, and his throat bobbed as he frowned as if in pain, his eyes appearing glassy. He broke Evelyn's heart in a million pieces, and it made all the certainty she had obtained after a night thinking about Sebastian's marriage proposal disappear in a second.

Mind and heart had always been in constant battle, though, and now, even as her heart ached, her mind was telling her adamantly that precisely because of that she should accept Sebastian's offer, and try as best as she could to start a new life with the Prince. Otherwise, she was doomed to suffer over and over, knowing Cullen would always be this close, yet at the same time impossibly far away from her.

Still, the moment she saw him she felt an unstoppable need to participate in any of the activities set for the day, anything that would drive her away from him. And it was in that spirit that when the marksmanship contest began an hour later, she eagerly stepped forward, purposefully ignoring Josephine's protestations about how a lady should not do that, especially dressed as she was.

The crowd had another opinion entirely, and when she joined the archers and knife throwers, followed closely by Sebastian smiling broadly at the chance to participate with her, almost everyone in Skyhold cheered.

When the first round ended with Sera and Evelyn on top, Sebastian leaned to whisper something in her ear. Varric would never know what he said, nor what she answered, but that didn't stop him from dubbing them from afar with his own words, to Hawke and Fenris' amusement and Cullen's blind fury.

-I should have known you would best me in this,- he said, trying his best to mimic Sebastian's intonation and accent, yet purposely exaggerating it for comedic effect.

-How so? You never saw me train,- he answered himself at the same time Evelyn was looking at Sebastian and saying whatever it was back, the dwarf's voice inflecting markedly more treble to resemble a woman's voice. Whomever he was using as his inspiration was not Evelyn though; the voice he was making was too high, resembling more of Dagna than the Inquisitor.

-Because your aim for my heart was straight and true.

Hawke spluttered and nearly choked on his beer at that. Fenris merely chuckled, and Cullen grunted in annoyance, though too low to be heard. When the dwarf saw the effect the line had on the Champion, now coughing and laughing at the same time, he grinned.

-What? Too cheesy?

-Too terrible,- came Hawke's answer, to which the dwarf merely shook his shoulders.

-The Seeker would love it, wouldn't she, Curly?- He turned to find nothing but air behind him. He didn't have time to think about it though, since Fenris shared his own opinion.

-He failed on purpose.

-Of course he did! He is a gentleman,- answered Varric, only to be followed by Hawke.

-One that really wants to get in her pants!

Cullen was a few steps away from them when he heard the dwarf and the mage laugh along with Fenris' discreet chuckle again. As he walked away to the viewing platform, where Josephine, Leliana, and Adair were sitting next to Cullen, Evelyn, and Sebastian's empty seats, he had to navigate through the crowd, doing his best not to hear the people cheering for the Inquisitor, never forgetting to add Sebastian to their chants, even though he had been eliminated from the competition already. The fact that most of his own men were part of that excited crowd made him feel even worse.

He just wanted to go to his office and forget about all of this. He wouldn't be able to completely shut himself out of the celebrations, since even if he did reach his room without Josephine forcing him to come back or his men asking him why he was leaving, he would still be able to hear the music, laughter and cheers from his bed, but at least he wouldn't be able to see them together, or to overhear the gossip that seemed to be the order of the day ever since Sebastian set foot in Skyhold.

Cullen hated this. He loathed that the Prince was able to stand near her, touch her casually, make her smile and smell her perfume. No matter how many days had passed, he still prized Evey as his own, and he was not able to shake that yearning from his heart. He needed to get to her, but he had been too cowardly to approach her, wary of receiving nothing but rejection, just as he had when he tried to talk to her after their incident.

Immersed in his own misery, he reached the platform and sat on the chair next to Josephine, who was in turn next to Adair. There were screams around them that only increased when Sera stepped forward to take her last round of shots, competing for first place, but Adair's voice was strong enough to reach him without problem. Something he was not sure was a good thing after what the advisor had to say to Josephine.

-They make a bonny couple, don't you think?

Once again, Cullen couldn't help but grunt through his discomfort at yet another person admiring Sebastian and Evelyn together. Josephine, of course, nodded excitedly, which only soured Cullen's temper further, despite knowing beforehand that the Antivan was delighted with the idea of the Prince and the Inquisitor together. The fact that the Starkhavener advisor was right only made it worse, the feeling deepening when Cullen raised his eyes and observed Sebastian lean slightly toward her as they talked, his hands clasped behind his back, softly speaking in the Inquisitor's ear whom seemed anything but uncomfortable with the Prince's proximity. They were both dressed in blue, he in a darker hue, she in a lighter tone that almost appeared white from afar, as if she were a bride ( _Sebastian's_ bride), her long, dark golden tresses loose and moving freely in the air, his brown hair neatly combed back. Together they looked regal, the contrast only increasing the nagging feeling that they belonged to each other, complementing one another. And that was driving Cullen completely mad, his blood boiling just as it had done during the moments after taking his first lyrium draught.

But as it turned out, his disgust was bound to increase exponentially over the next hours. And it started with Adair's next words:

-I hope she accepts. She would make a fine princess.

Even if Cullen's mind hadn't been sent into a desperate, downward spiral, the Commander would have been unable to hear Josephine's answer, Sera's screaming voice declaring her victory from the other side of the courtyard the moment her last arrow hit the target right in the middle.

- _BULLSEYE!_ \- Then she walked the few paces that separated her from Bull and nudged his side. -Get it? 'Cos you only got one!

The qunari seemed more impressed by Sera's skill with the bow than with her puns, even when he himself was the author of worse, which the Chargers had had the misfortune of hearing.

-Yeah, Krem's already said that one.

-Ah, shit.- Then the elf turned toward Sebastian and the Inquisitor, pointing at the Prince with a finger. -In your princely face, skirt boy! Pay up!- She extended a hand to collect her winnings on a bet that supposedly they had posted sometime during the match.

Sebastian did not seem inclined to let anything sour his night, and paid the bet happily, stopping Evelyn from reprimanding Sera for her less than appropriate manner of addressing him.

Once the sun set and all the honorable contests with laudable objectives such as demonstrating their warriors' best fighting abilities ended, the competitions degenerated into something that was not Josephine's idea of a decent party, with far too much ale. Hawke was at the head of the revolutionary movement with his kissing booth, inspiring Bull to try to install his own "Ride the Bull" booth, making the poor advisor almost faint when the qunari announced in his booming voice,

-Ride the Bull! Experience the Mayhem! Caress the Horn!

Despite Josephine's despair, the people were having the best night since the celebration of their victory in The Western Approach, and the knowledge that there were no casualties looming over them to turn their happiness bittersweet this time made it all the better.

Laughter, drink and song was everywhere, and the people mingled, enjoying that at least on this night they didn't have a care in the world. Only Cullen, Evelyn, and Sebastian had something on their minds that overshadowed part or all their enjoyment. Sebastian was focusing on appreciating the lengths Josephine had gone to give him and his men a proper farewell, but the reason for the celebration was making that hard to accomplish. Tomorrow, he would go back to Starkhaven and therefore not see Evelyn again for Maker knew how long, perhaps even taking with him the doubt about what her final decision would be. Evey, in turn, was unable to fully relax, thinking about both the Prince and the Commander, feeling confused to the point that from time to time she felt the urge to run away and hide in her room, seeking solitude to put her thoughts and feelings in order. Cullen, though, was the one that was arguably the most miserable, finding no enjoyment in the celebrations, not even bothering to hide his sadness and anger with fake smiles, instead following the Inquisitor with his eyes, wishing he could find a moment where she would be left relatively alone to take her by the arm and lead her to some secluded place where he could tell her all he felt and beg her not to marry Sebastian. The chances of that were slim, since she was the center of attention as always, especially when the Prince took her by the hand and invited her to dance with him.

They never got the chance to finish that piece of music though; somewhere around the middle of their dance, chaos erupted, screams and shouts from several soldiers and civilians calling out a fist fight disrupting the party.

Being the Commander of the Inquisition, Cullen was obligated to intervene in any conflict that arose, especially when his men were involved. The fight was already spreading, and he couldn't ignore it, no matter how perfect the distraction was to allow him to take Evelyn somewhere they could be alone, or how close he was to her now that Sebastian had left her side to investigate what was happening.

Sighing, Cullen turned to follow her eyes and spotted a growing mass of people joining what looked to be the epicenter of the fight. Most were just shouting, but when it came to such a large amount of people, it was only a matter of time until it devolved into a full scale fight.

Much to his annoyance, it took him longer than he wanted to get there. Soldiers and commoners were already squashing one against the other either in an attempt to get a better view or to intervene in favor of one of the two main voices that were heard below the general uproar. Two voices Cullen knew far too well.

-Take one step closer and you lose your heart, _magister_.

When the last word reached him, he felt such exasperation and barely contained fury that he began to shove his way through the crowd, praying to Andraste that for once Dorian would chose his words wisely and keep his mouth shut.

After all that had happened that night, he should have known that the Maker's Bride was not exactly listening intently to his pleas.

Before he could clear a path to them, he heard Dorian's answer and almost felt sorry for the man's imminent fate. He had no idea who he was dealing with.

-Fenris, isn't it?- A growl and a faint blue light was the only answer he got. -I'm an altus. There is a difference between the two.

-You won't trick me. I know who you are, and I know _what_ you are... I _remember_ you.

If Cullen would have been able to see Fenris' eyes, he would have seen a force far greater than the elf's markings, for from the center of his green irises, Fenris was distilling such hate that he made most of the people bunching in the first row take a couple of cautious steps back, pushing Cullen backwards.

This time it was Hawke who intervened.

-Fenris? What are you talking about?- The Champion seemed genuinely worried.

How did Fenris know Dorian? Could it be that the man Hawke had found too funny and uncharacteristically trustworthy to be a Tevinter altus was actually someone who used to assist Danarius' repugnant soirées? Or was Fenris just mistaking Dorian for someone else?

All of those questions filled Hawke's mind in a second, now looking at Dorian with wariness, instinctively taking his friend's side while awaiting an answer. But the elf was too focused on the mage to provide any reply, his eyes fixed on Dorian as if he was ready to leap on him for any given reason.

-He says he remembers Dorian from one of his former master's parties,- Krem intervened, trying to shed some light for Hawke and everyone else who could hear him, which by now included Cullen as well. -He's just drunk.

That made Fenris' death glare shift from Dorian to the Charger, the intensity in his eyes only growing.

-Are you so tainted by his influence that you still kneel before him so easily, _soporati_?

Before Krem had the chance to answer with anything other than a derisive snort that made Fenris' markings flare with disturbing intensity, Cullen finally managed to emerge from between two men in the front row, stepping into the middle of the fight.

His sudden appearance made Fenris turn again, looking at him with a blend of alarm and ferocity that made him resemble the wolf his master used to compare him to.

-Fenris, please, we're all friends here,- was Cullen's pathetic attempt to calm the waters.

-I'm no friend of a _magister_ ,- the elf practically spat the words.

- _Altus_!- came Dorian's voice from somewhere behind Cullen, and the condescending tone made the Commander reconsider his idea of saving the mage's neck.

-He is no magister. I give you my word.

-You _defend_ him? You of all people?- Fenris was almost seething now, looking back at Cullen in complete shock, his eyes practically accusing him of treason.

Behind Cullen, voices were already whispering, a rumor spreading. There were people who knew of his past hatred of mages, and the rest speculated freely and unwisely, painting him in all shades between a tyrant and a saint, none of which Cullen had ever been. If that wasn't annoying enough, there were other voices that were setting off alarms in Cullen's mind, for he could already hear people taking this fight to a more personal ground, his and Fenris' men choosing sides for an upcoming battle they could almost sniff in the air, claiming the two Tevinters' dispute for themselves and raising tensions that were already too fragile whenever alcohol was involved... and there had been plenty of that in the last few hours to all but assure a battle would explode any second now.

Cullen's senses captured all of this in a span of a second, dulling himself to anything other than the urgent need to stop this before it exploded worse than a ton of gaatlok.

But as the Commander had already noticed, the Maker and His Bride were not on his side tonight, and when he was distracted by Sebastian's arrival, he failed to notice that Grim and Rocky had sneaked behind Fenris' back, seizing the opportunity of the elf turning his focus to the Prince.

The moment the Chargers' hands touched Fenris' arms in a futile attempt to restrain him, the whole situation exploded. The elf turned and, with what looked like his last thread of sanity, remembered not to rip the Chargers' hearts out, choosing instead to punch both to the floor.

Hawke, Sebastian, and Cullen's shouts of "No" were practically in unison with the sound of Fenris' fist connecting with Grim's jaw.

That single punch produced a domino effect, where one by one everyone began to scream and swing at each other, as if that first hit had released some restraint in all their minds. In a matter of seconds, fists, pitchers, and even tables began to fly, replacing the formerly peaceful diplomatic celebrations with one of the biggest bar brawls of all time.

Some were trying to calm things down, screaming their lungs out to be heard over the general chaos that had erupted. Others, like Bull, were caught somewhere between complete amusement and careful arbitrage, lifting the smallest off their feet just to enjoy how they struggled and complained to be put to the floor again.

All of this should have angered Cullen, and though he should have played his part and demanded his men step out and act as was expected of them, deep down he wanted to join them. Inexplicable as it was, he felt that if he did just that, he would somehow feel a weight lift from his shoulders. He knew nothing would be solved by fighting (he was not so out of his mind as to not realize that), but the desire was strong, and it kept him there in the middle of the fight where no one dared turn to him looking for trouble, not moving as he looked at the people as if enchanted by the simplicity of the brutality.

After the feeling passed, another flooded in to replace it: inevitability. This whole thing was so predictable, as the sun rising in the morning, to the point where it almost felt ridiculous. The slamming of the punches, the insults, the outraged pleas of Josephine at the back, were so surreal that had they not been developing in front of his eyes, Cullen would have thought it was an excerpt taken from one of Varric's books. Ironically, it painted the whole charade of etiquette and protocol in a more realistic tone. They were at war, and soldiers who slacken become restless. This was not an Orlesian Ball; this was Skyhold, and even though families and commoners lived here, beneath the surface there was a reality that Josephine was stubbornly refusing: this was a military facility, where people were training to fight something far more dangerous than nobles in petticoats and high heels, and no matter how much Josephine wanted to dress it up in something else, it was only a matter of time that this would happen after forcing his men to play the part of social dignitaries.

And when the feeling of inevitability reached its peak and Cullen was considering the best way to stop the chaos, it was then that he was pushed against Sebastian by a rampaging qunari, who purposely spread his arms toward the Commander to push him out of the way before charging into the fight.

Three minutes into the brawl and Bull had taken his fill of the insults he was currently receiving from two men he held by the trousers four feet above the ground, sputtered nonstop in his direction. After placing them both softly in the ground again, he kneeled down and charged against them (and many people behind them) in a destructive sprint without a clear objective, taking everything and everyone but Cullen in his path and causing several men and women to jump over him when he was stopped by the sheer force of the crowd.

After the qunari pushed Cullen against Sebastian, the Commander and the Prince turned to look at each other in bemusement, wondering how in the Maker's name this had escalated so quickly. For a second, Cullen almost smiled, knowing that the Prince's mind was filled with the same questions and confusion as his was.

But then he recalled Adair's words, almost as if the advisor was standing next to him to repeat them in his ear. He remembered what dress Josephine had picked for the Inquisitor that very same day, and the way Sebastian had been hoarding Evey's attention.

-Shouldn't we do something?!

If he was honest, Sebastian appeared worried, but something inside Cullen twisted his tone into one of command, as if the Prince thought he was entitled to demand anything from him... almost as if he...

The image of Sebastian marrying Evelyn and taking charge of the Inquisition while she traveled hit him as hard as Bull would have if the giant had not avoided him purposely. In fact, he imagined an impact with Bull would have hurt less.

Inside him, a demon practically emerged, filling him with an idea and screaming that the setting could not be more perfect for what was already wickedly suggested for him to do. Smiling fiendishly, Cullen shrugged.

-Probably.

And he punched Sebastian in the jaw with all the stress the last eighteen days had given him, channeling the frustration of seeing the Prince taking Evelyn away from him, not caring that she hadn't been on speaking terms with him when Sebastian had arrived.

The Prince stumbled backwards and doubled over from the sheer force of the impact, and as he straightened again, Cullen couldn't help but give voice to some of his aggravation.

-How's _that_ for something, your _Highness_?

He waited for Sebastian's next move, his fists raised to his face, expecting the Prince to follow suit in taking their civil battle to the physical level.

Taking his time, Sebastian calmly wiped at his now bleeding lip and nodded.

-It's good. But I can do better.

After that, the world around them blurred, and the Prince of Starkhaven and the Commander of the Inquisition left their diplomatic facades behind to brawl like everyone else around them, but for far more personal motives.

oOo

-This is entirely outrageous!

Josephine's indignant voice once again reverberated in the War Room. This time though, the subjects being berated had changed. Adair, Leliana, and Evelyn were standing with her, facing those currently under Josephine's scolding on the other side of the massive War Table.

Fenris had a swollen jaw where he had received his only punch in a fight which had lasted far too long, whereas Sebastian had a busted lip and a left eye that was suspiciously puffy and progressively changing colors. Cullen's right cheek was as swollen as if he were nursing a tooth ache, and Dorian was struggling not to freak out at the almost permanently sealed black eye that Fenris had kindly gifted to him almost half an hour ago. As if that was not enough, barring the elf, the men were hiding what would be an interesting collection of bruises that would remain for quite some time as a testimony of when the party descended into chaos.

Not that any of this mattered or deserved any compassion from the Ambassador, who continued with her speech, vehemence exuding in every word.

-It's bad enough that _you two,_ \- she pointed toward Fenris and Dorian, the former looking both annoyed and astonished that he had to tolerate this woman berating him like she was his mother, and the latter having enough sense to look contrite, knowing it was the best strategy with an angry Josie, even if half his attention was actually focusing on his eye, -decided to display such savage and indecent behavior, but _you_ ,- and she promptly turned to look at Sebastian and Cullen, -would _actually_ join the fight!- She shook her head as if she were dizzy. -I simply cannot find the words to describe it.

-Calm down, lass. It was just a wee brawl,- Adair attempted to make light of the event.

Sadly, it didn't work.

-Calm...? Calm _down?!_

-Or not,- Hawke added softly under his breath, hiding in the back of the room, not yet accused of anything more than trying to separate Fenris and Dorian, or rather take Fenris off Dorian to be more precise. He was happy to watch Josephine go berserk on someone who, for once, was not him... despite also having a swollen eye where Dorian had tried, and failed, to hit Fenris in self defense and had landed his closed fist on the Champion's face. And now, after his mouth had done what it was best at and spoke before consulting with his brain, he felt grateful that Josephine was too focused on the group of offenders to pay any attention to him. Otherwise, with the tone things were taking, he feared the Ambassador would have ended up giving him a matching black eye.

-I just... Inquisitor, please! Tell me you see how humiliating that was!- the Antivan practically begged.

Evelyn looked back at Cullen and Sebastian, ignoring the true culprits of the debacle. She had witnessed how, in the madness surrounding them, the men had begun to attack one another without clear provocation, and she didn't want to believe that the Prince and her Commander had fought over her, but any other reason why they could have behaved diametrically opposed to their positions and natures was beyond her.

Trying not to think of how the incident had lured both Sebastian and Cullen of all people and had forced them to join in, she sighed heavily and chose her words carefully, speaking almost too calmly.

-As Josephine said, I don't have words to describe how I feel.- All four men looked at her at once, some confused, others ashamed, but all of them surprised that she was acting so coolly. -I'm not angry. I'm not sad. I'm not even surprised.- _That_ seemed to hurt Cullen and Sebastian, both flinching when hearing she didn't consider them beyond such actions. -I'm just disappointed.

Of all the things she could have said, this seemed to be among the worst. Cullen lowered his head in shame, chastising himself for indulging in his baser instincts of possessiveness instead of taking the high road. And Sebastian, though still with his head raised, was completely mortified by Evelyn's words.

When the silence lasted longer than two seconds and Josephine indicated she might say more, Evelyn raised her hand to hold her at bay.

-Regardless, I don't see a point in discussing this any further, Josephine.- Timidly, for she was also surprised by Evelyn's apparent indifference, she nodded her agreement. -No matter what we do, or say, nothing will change what happened.- She turned then toward Fenris and Dorian. -Nevertheless, I suggest that you two resolve your differences, because I will not allow this to happen again in the future.- Her authoritarian tone was back, making sure they knew she was serious in her request. They could not afford another incident like this one, even less so if they didn't have the excuse of alcohol or a long night of forgoing their inhibitions to mask what was in reality a deeper conflict, one that she was determined to put an end to as soon as possible.

-If I've been informed correctly, I can even understand and relate to the reasons behind your confusion, Commander Fenris,- she said, turning her attention to the elf, -but I can assure you your reservations are misplaced when it comes to Dorian, and I'm at your disposal to answer any questions you might ask to dispel any doubts you have.- She made the briefest pause, which called Fenris' attention back toward her again after his eyes had diverted to Dorian once more. -In fact, you now have Leliana's background checks on all our members at your disposal if you think that will help.- She spared a glance back at the Nightingale to find support for her proposal, and when the woman nodded solemnly in agreement, she turned back to look at Fenris once again, whom also nodded, ever a man of few words.

-Then if there's nothing else, I think we should all go to our beds. It's been a long night as it is.

After that, and without further ado, she walked to the door and left the War Room, everyone else following her lead silently.

Cullen wanted to say something, to explain even though he hardly had a valid explanation himself, but when he took one step in Evey's direction, she looked at him by accident as she was walking past the War Room's door, and he saw the exhaustion and the walls she had built around her to protect herself. He had seen that before countless times, and he had learned to respect them without question. Only once had he ignored that unique way she had asked to be left alone without uttering a word, when he had found her in the targeting range riding her horse and venting her frustrations and pain over the losses at The Western Approach's siege. He had done it solely because he had known that not breaching through her defenses to offer her consolation would lead her to destruction. Now, the glinting in her eyes spoke of a new plea: she needed to be left alone. Evelyn couldn't bear to be near anyone for the time being, unable to face the moment, and attempting to intrude would only result in rejection, just as it had the day after he smote her down.

Sebastian, though, did not know her as well as Cullen did and, driven by the fear of losing his chance over such a small thing, pushed her beyond what was wise, asking for a minute of her time before she could get to the second door beyond Josephine's office.

-Please, can we talk, _leannan_?

Still not comfortable with the endearment, especially now that she knew what it meant, she flinched and replied more harshly than she intended.

-I don't want to discuss anything tonight, Sebastian. I'm really exhausted,- she said while Cullen and the rest passed them by in the office.

The Commander deliberately avoided looking at her, fighting his own curiosity to see the expression on her face when she looked at Sebastian, imagining instead the frustration in her eyes and wondering also what he had just called her. In contrast, Fenris _did_ send a significant glance to the Prince, warning him that he was the only one who seemed unable to read Evelyn's mood. Sebastian, however, ignored Fenris as much as he ignored his own instincts, which told him that talking to her right now perhaps was not the best idea.

-I understand, it's just...- His voice softened, as if he was dealing with a skittish small animal. -Please, I need to know your opinion of me hasn't changed because of this.

Tired out from a long day and not looking forward to what she feared would be a longer night alone with her thoughts, she sighed, feeling only slightly relieved when her sigh marked the exact moment when the last of the company left Josephine's office, leaving both of them alone.

-Sebastian, I think highly of you. And Cullen. And that opinion is not so fickle as to waver over something like this.- She paused, considering her next words. -But as I said, I'm... disappointed.

Hearing that again made Sebastian frown with worry.

-I know, and for what it's worth, I regret that it happened. But I...- He fidgeted in place, looking down at his boots, wondering if he should say what was on his mind or not. Eventually, he decided the damage was past done, and he should at least offer some explanation on what had caused him to respond to Cullen's provocation. -I'm afraid I'm not beyond feeling jealousy, and sometimes I feel possessive of you.- When he looked at her from the corner of his eyes and saw her frown in what he interpreted as indignation, he rushed to add, -even when I hardly have any claim over you.- He chuckled bitterly. -I know that doesn't speak well of me, but it's the truth.

Once again, Evelyn couldn't help but sigh. Between the fatigue from all that happened and the emotional turmoil she had been immersed in since he proposed, she seemed to have become addicted to sighing, as if with that simple act she could expel pieces of her worries with a breath.

-Sebastian…- He immediately looked back at her, pinning her with his zirconian eyes. -If you really want me to consider taking this further between us, you need to trust me. If I choose to accept your proposal, you can't go thought life punching everyone you feel is a threat. That's just not how trust works.

-I know, _leannan_. It's just that...

How could he explain to her what he felt? How could he tell her that, even though she hadn't done anything to lead him in that direction, he felt he was losing her to someone she hadn't shown any particular interest for? How could he make her understand what he could see beneath the Commander's demeanor every time he looked at her? How could he put into words the emotions he had seen reflected in Cullen's eyes when he had punched him for the first time? The pain, the frustration, the determination to do the impossible and earn her back, despite the fact that Sebastian wasn't even sure if there had been something between them before? How could he tell her that he could see the pain and bitterness of an impossible love shining in her eyes when the Commander and Evelyn crossed paths unintentionally? How to explain that it pained him to see that small flame still burning in her eyes whenever she looked at Cullen?

Finally, unable to say any of that, he chose to at least reassure her on the only aspect he could.

-You're right. I trust you.- Then he paused for a second, raising one hand to brush her cheek while he moved a strand of hair away from her face. Though she tensed at the contact, the realization that she didn't retreat made him hold on to hope just a little longer. Once she raised her gaze again to his eyes, he spoke again, his voice soft and low. -At least say you forgive me. I would hate to go home tomorrow believing I'd disappointed you.

He was pushing his luck, he knew, but he had been honest. The idea of her feeling disappointed in his actions pained him, and the night would be long and difficult as it was knowing he would have to part the next morning without knowing whether they had a future, a lengthy journey and Maker knew how many more days and nights separating him from news of an answer to his proposal.

-I do...- And then she added, almost whispering, -I will.

Trying his best to accept the last caveat, Sebastian leaned slowly toward her, letting her know of his intentions and giving her more than enough time to retreat should she want to.

She didn't, and he was suddenly tempted to kiss her on the lips instead of the destination he had planned from the beginning, but he didn't want to force her into anything, and he wanted to believe that he would someday be able to taste a kiss from her without having to steal it.

So that was why, when his lips made contact with her, they did so on her cheek, close enough to the corner of her mouth to let her know that he yearned to have that privilege one day, but far enough to avoid making her uncomfortable.

After that, there were no words regarding forgiveness or disappointment. Instead, they only walked together to the main hall and the door leading to her room, and with soft words, wished each other goodnight before parting ways.


	45. Chapter 45

Chapter 45: Encounters and Departures

No matter what she did, Evelyn couldn't sleep. Over and over she tossed and turned, waiting for the moment when her exhaustion from the last few days would finally overpower her and take her to the Fade, where she could isolate herself from the dizzying pace her life had set. She had known for months that being the Inquisitor was not an easy job, and until now she had endured it as stoically as she could, fully aware that outside Skyhold's walls were thousands of people in much direr situations than her. But that didn't mean she needed the extra complication that had arisen in her personal life.

Sebastian was leaving Skyhold in less than twelve hours, and she still hadn't decided what to do about his proposal. She knew what she felt had never been in doubt, but she also knew that her feelings were leading her to a place where she had no future, no matter her heart's intent on making her feel otherwise.

Arranged marriages that disregarded love as a factor were more common among nobility, rather than a couple joining without caring for social and economic advantages that such unions could bring to themselves and their families. Some spouses never worked, and spent their existence tolerating one another, in the best situations reaching an impasse that would allow each of them to reach some semblance of happiness amid the farce. Others were luckier and, in time, nourished a deep friendship where, even if they could not find a lover in the other, they had at least earned a confidant. The last kind, and the rarest of all, were the ones that, despite being in an arranged marriage, found in their partner a kindred spirit, someone whom filled them with happiness and love like no other.

Her brother had that, and the spark in his eyes whenever he glimpsed his wife was something Evelyn had desired for herself all her life, a glimmer she had recognized in her own eyes once… but not when she looked at the man who had asked for her hand. Even still, the man for whom her heart refused to let go was also the one who had attacked her for bearing the same mark which had at first made him admire her.

With that last thought, Evelyn gave up, and in one single movement jumped out of bed, kicking away the covers. She needed to think, yet paradoxically also needed to clear her head, and it now seemed obvious that she wouldn't be able to do either while trapped in her room like a caged animal.

In her haste to go outside, she put on a pair of pants and her robe, without bothering to change out of the white chemise Leliana had brought back for her from Orlais. She then quickly added a pair of slippers and rushed downstairs.

Whenever she needed to think, she would go to the battlements and reflect on her problems, watching the lights from their army at the base of the mountain. Today, though, she feared she would cross paths with Cullen if she followed that impulse. After all, the Commander had a habit of sleeping only as long as necessary to be functional, whether as a consequence of his Templar training or his lyrium withdrawal not allowing him to enjoy more hours of rest. And today, to stack the odds more against her, a great number of people were still awake, stretching the celebrations and not letting their previous frictions affect their mood. It was probable that Cullen had not yet retired to his bed, possibly still going through all the preparations for Rylen's transfer to the Western Approach in the morning.

Without the courtyards or the ramparts to turn to, along with the sense of oppression she felt in her room nixing any other room from the range of possibilities (considering hers was the biggest in Skyhold, and if she felt trapped there, no other place would suffice), she decided she would retreat to the gardens.

At night, Crystal Grace enveloped the gardens with their sweetest aroma, imbuing anyone nearby with a fortitude that Evelyn suspected had something to do with the plant's utility as a main ingredient for certain potions. And right now, she certainly needed to feel stronger, revitalized, if only for a moment, even if it ended up being nothing more than an empty promise produced by the unrefined ingredient.

When she stepped into the garden, the effect was immediate. She couldn't tell if it was the soft breeze heralding the distant summer, the breathtaking night itself, or the effect of the Crystal Graces' aroma, but the moment she descended the short steps to the center of the garden with all intentions to sit under the stone gazebo, she found herself feeling rejuvenated…

Only to fall back into her previous stressful state a second later, when she saw she was facing none other than the Prince of Starkhaven.

He was sitting on one of the stone benches, his elbows propped on his thighs and his head in hands, completely unaware of her arrival. With her abilities, Evelyn thought she could creep into the shadows and sneak out of there without him noticing. Sebastian had also trained in stealth, but he had not relied on his skills for a long time, making it easier for her to avoid him without him even catching on.

There was only one problem with that: it felt wrong.

Bitterly, she remembered their last talk and the harsh tone she had not fully repressed, overwhelmed by the need to be alone, and after just a moment of doubt, she purposely stepped on a twig, thus announcing her presence.

The second the crack resonated, Sebastian looked up to where she was standing, his eyes reflecting his surprise at seeing her.

-My lady! I hadn't expected to find you here.

His formality hurt. It was true that she was uncomfortable with his propensity to call her 'sweetheart', even if he said it in his own language, for that had been the same endearment Cullen had used toward her. Despite it being in another language, she now knew the meaning of the foreign word, and felt a pang of turmoil each time Sebastian used it. But to reverse from that to the formalities they had forgone so readily didn't feel right either, especially when deep down she knew that she had been responsible in part for the new distance between them.

-I came looking for some fresh air.- She looked down at her feet, feeling the texture of the stones and the grass through the thin soles of her slippers. -I couldn't sleep.

-Would you prefer privacy? I can find another area.

She raised her eyes and saw the pain in his own, though he was doing his best to hide it, and she felt miserable at the prospect of being the reason behind such a hurt expression. So much so, that she didn't even think twice before walking through the grass and sitting at his side.

-I think the garden is big enough for both of us,- she smiled tentatively toward him, and was glad to see him do the same, his eyes appearing more hopeful.

-I confess, I couldn't sleep, either.- He turned his body to better look at her. -Evelyn, I'm truly sorry for what happened. I don't have an excuse for my behavior, earlier.

-Don't,- she insisted, though softly and with no malice. -There's no need for more apologies.- Her gaze dropped to his lips, causing Sebastian's breath to hitch. His lower lip had swollen, and even though he had cleaned the dried blood, she could still see the tender flesh where Cullen had broken the skin. -You should probably ask one of the mages to fix that for you,- she suggested, pointing to her own lip in indication. -People will speak poorly of our hospitality if you walk out of Skyhold with a burst lip.

Sebastian's eyes shone with mischief for the briefest moment then.

-Or I could stay and wait for it to heal naturally.

She knew where he was heading and, as she usually did when feeling cornered, she resorted to humor.

-Yes, I imagine the people of Starkhaven will _certainly_ thank me for delaying their Prince even further.

-Believe it or not, even absent I'm still a better ruler than my cousin Goran, so I don't think they would mind.- She smiled with him, enjoying the fact that he had followed her with another joke, but then Sebastian grew somber again, dropping his gaze to her hands intertwined together in her lap. She followed his eyes and rested hers there too, respecting the silence that had grown between the two of them. When Sebastian spoke again, his soft, almost fearful tone surprised even her. -I wish I could do it, though.- She looked back at him again, not sure what he referred to. -Stay, I mean,- he clarified.

Once again, his zirconinan eyes ensnared her, the tenderness mixing with fear in them speaking volumes of the honesty of his words. He then raised a hand and placed it on her cheek, caressing her softly with his thumb.

-I wish we had more time,- he whispered softly, lowering his thumb to her lips, brushing them just barely, his eyes following the movement and trying to repress the desire to kiss her that his touch had awakened in him.

He was evaluating the possibility of doing just that when they heard a familiar voice calling.

-Inquisitor!

oOo

Cullen had ironically come to the gardens looking for peace, just as Sebastian and Evey had done. Despairing, he had hoped prayer might help ease his troubled thoughts and perhaps hush Adair's words in his mind long enough to think clearly. He also wanted to forget the look on Evey's face, the disappointment that had clouded her eyes when she found him and the Prince fighting in the courtyard. He needed to keep his fears from painting a picture of Evelyn walking down the aisle toward Sebastian, of them as newlyweds discovering their passion in their nuptial bed. He wanted to banish the image of her in Starkhaven's throne room, a delicate crown upon her head, holding Sebastian's hand and smiling with happiness.

He wanted to forget that he was losing her.

But the Maker had proved to be an unforgiving deity when it came to him, making Cullen pay for past offenses in the worst possible way, taking away from him the only thing that he had ever truly wanted for himself and rubbing it in his face by making him witness an obviously intimate moment between the Prince and the woman that was unknowingly digging his grave by walking away from him and into Sebastian's arms.

His call had broken their moment and, though it was small consolation for his shattered heart, he at least found it easier to talk, and even breathe, when he saw them pull apart from the surprise.

If he was honest with himself, he had called out to her by instinct, acting on his first impulse at seeing her so close to Sebastian, not even knowing what he would do once he'd gotten her attention. Now that she was looking at him in confusion, he had no idea what to do next. To gain some time to think of a strategy, he did the first thing that came to mind and walked toward them.

When he was finally in front of them, he noted Sebastian's hand resting over hers on the bench, and that simple gesture decided for him once and for all. Perhaps Evey was already too far gone for Cullen to reach her, but he would not let this go without at least giving it a good fighting chance. He would not stand on the sidelines any longer. Whether she wanted to hear what he had to say or not, he would tell her what was on his heart.

Nevertheless, forcing anything on her had never been and never would be an option, so in a surprising turn of events, and defying the exhaustion and confusion that had taken over his mind lately, he came up with the perfect excuse.

-I've been looking for you, Inquisitor. I could use your help going over the list of recruits that have been assigned permanently to the Western Approach.- She frowned, almost as if not believing him, and before she had the chance to inquire about it, he rushed to explain. -With all the celebrations, I haven't had the chance to properly discuss it with you. I understand this isn't the best hour for it, but this is important.

But Evelyn was not a woman so easily deceived, especially when she was being asked to do something she didn't want to, and Cullen knew talking to him alone was, sadly, high on her list of things she liked least ever since the morning of their last kiss. Still, she looked more confused than anything else, her mind too preoccupied with what he had just interrupted to give anything more than a pitiful excuse to try to avoid being alone with him.

-I... I trust in your good judgment, Cullen. I don't think you require my assistance with this.

-I'm afraid I must insist, my lady.- And then he looked at Sebastian, allowing the smallest, briefest glint of mischief to spark in his eyes long enough for the other man to see. -I'm sure the Prince will understand?- He phrased it as a question, knowing perfectly well that for Sebastian to do anything besides acquiesce to his request now would be considered impolite.

The fire in Sebastian's eyes when he recognized the trap flashed as quickly as Cullen's mischievous glance had, both endeavoring to behave as best as they could in Evelyn's presence.

But the Prince was not someone who surrendered easily, so in a last attempt to preserve his pride, he stood, taking her hand in his to bring her to her feet as well, and kissed her knuckles, smiling softly, consciously ignoring Cullen and concentrating on her for the moment.

-Don't worry _leannan_. I can wait.

Cullen nearly failed to repress the grunt that Sebastian's move brought out in him. Finally, it fell to Evey to give this small victory to the Commander.

-No, you should really head to bed, Sebastian… You have a long journey ahead of you, and this assignment business could take a while.

-…If that is what you wish…

The Prince paused for a handful of seconds, giving her the opportunity to ask him to stay, to avoid being alone with Cullen, and if she was honest with herself she felt tempted to take it.

It was the memory of the fight between both men that made her decide against it.

-It is.

-…Then I'll see you in the morning.

When Sebastian bent to plant a soft kiss on her cheek, Cullen thought it merely a provocation and nothing more, but in truth the Prince did it for another reason entirely. Despite Evelyn looking miserable at the prospect of being alone with Cullen, noticeably more uneasy in the Commander's company than she had ever been in his, leaving her there alone with him felt like delivering her into his arms, losing all ground he had gained and fought hard to maintain in this silent war, slowly and tenderly making her feel safe and comfortable by his side. Stepping out of the garden, sparing only a brief glance back and a polite salute to the Commander, felt like surrendering all his hopes for a future with the Herald.

It was in that spirit that he had kissed her. Though chaste and brief, the expression of his love for her felt as though he was leaving a part of him behind for her to keep close to her heart, to remember that she had a choice, and, if the Maker was kind, to take her back to his arms.

When he closed the garden doors, Sebastian couldn't help but feel that his last impulse had been not only stupid, but completely useless. For Evey, it didn't come off that way, his last kiss giving her something to anchor herself, to resist the frantic beating of her heart which seemed to be pounding with increasing speed only to jump out of her chest and find Cullen, whom her heart had declared its owner, despite what her mind desperately reminded it daily.

Walking physically away from Cullen didn't help the situation, her heart as stubborn as she ever was, even after she had put more than five paces between them and reached the pot with the Crystal Grace, almost as if subconsciously she yearned to feel the soothing effect the plant had had on her when she'd first entered the garden. When this didn't work either, she began to talk nervously, as if filling the silence could somehow also fill the void in her soul.

-I think it would be best to station men who were born and raised in those lands or close enough to the Approach as to not be affected by the climate,- she began almost mechanically- Fereldans and Marchers aren't used to the dry heat and that can affect their performance, especially if...- Cullen's hand on her upper arm stopped her.

-Evey,- he softly whispered, his voice coming from behind her right ear like a caress. Her stomach did a somersault at the sound, and her heart skipped more than a beat.

Trying to hide how he affected her, she cleared her throat and kept going.

-Especially if they're to wear the same armor they do here.

-Evelyn, stop,- he said more firmly, gently turning her. She obstinately refused to look at him, focusing instead on the gazebo behind him.

Her resistance was like a stab to Cullen's heart, and he couldn't quite disguise a small cry of pain. Still, he was adamant that she needed to hear him. He couldn't just let her go without telling her. Breathing deeply, he leaned down until his forehead nearly made contact with her own, and despite her eyes still looking elsewhere, he spoke plaintively.

-Don't do it. Please, don't marry him…

Oh, Maker, His words… As if Fenris had plunged for the heart residing in her chest and had squeezed until she bled dry… Had his grip not been so secured, she surely would have stumbled backwards. In fact, in that terrible moment when she did step back, Cullen lost the support her body offered and swayed forward, raising his glimmering eyes to her. No physical pain she'd ever experienced could have competed with what he was making her suffer.

Cullen looked like he was about to burst into tears, his eyes shining more than usual under the moonlight, jaw clenched and frown deepening, the quintessential representation of despair… And she felt that same emotion spread until it ruptured her completely.

Without knowing it, Evey began to shake her head, as if that simple act could negate what was happening, and seeing her desperation grow, Cullen closed the distance she had created when she stepped back.

-Please, Evey… Listen to me, sweetheart.

That word did it.

One second she was shaking her head and fighting the tears that were welling in her eyes, and the next she was glaring with an indignation that reminded Cullen of when he had tried to console her in the woods after the battle in the Approach. Not even the single tear spilling down her cheek could make her look less menacing.

Frantic, Cullen did the only thing he could think of, and tried to reach out for her, only to watch in astonishment as she raised both arms, building a defensive wall to keep him away. Her face morphed from fierceness to complete and utter misery, and knowing he had ultimately caused that turmoil wrenched Cullen's heart all the more.

Neither could have said how long they stood there, but eventually Evelyn just shook her head forcefully, whimpered, and ran from the garden, shutting her eyes tightly in a vain attempt to ignore Cullen's pleas, calling her name out behind her.

oOo

On the 21st day of Sebastian's visit to Skyhold, somewhere around midmorning, one hundred twenty-three men were prepared to leave the fortress' borders and ride to their destination.

In honor of the event, Skyhold's yard and battlements where filled to the brim. A hundred men from Starkhaven had moved from their post at the end of the Mountain to join their Prince on his journey back to their homeland. Eighty of those would stay with the Inquisition's army, and twenty would be making the trip back to Starkhaven along with Sebastian and Adair. Twenty other men from the Inquisition itself, led by Rylen, would follow Sebastian's forces to the Imperial Highway, where they would split paths, the former continuing their journey to Jader where they would hire a ship to Kirkwall and then back home, and the latter would lead their men to the Western Approach, where they had been permanently assigned to Griffon Wing Keep.

Cullen's decision didn't bother Ryler in the least. This way he would not only be allowed to follow his Prince and guard his back until Jader, but also he would be commanding his own keep for the first time in his life. Of course he would need to report to Cullen regularly, but the fact that the Commander had assigned him to a post well beyond his immediate reach meant he trusted him enough to give him the responsibility to make his own decisions without direct intervention.

For his part, Cullen was not pleased at having to send Rylen away, even when his mind was currently set anywhere else but on that problem, which now seemed completely insignificant in comparison to all that weighed in his mind. He trusted Rylen and was sure he could run Griffon Wing Keep as firmly as he himself would, but parting with his Knight Captain meant more work for him in Skyhold, even with Fenris' aid now available, and that also meant he'd have even less time to put his personal life in order, now that Sebastian's departure opened a window of opportunity that had been closed for nearly a month. Silently, he refused to give in to the idea that he had failed completely at his desperate attempt to beg her to refuse the Prince the night before.

So when the Commander appeared that morning to bid farewell to his men and Starkhaven's with a stern demeanor, nobody found it too surprising, everyone assuming he was worried about losing his first in command.

But even though Cullen's conduct produced a few worried glances, at the very least his was not the only somber one in the Keep, for anyone with decent observant skills could see that every time the Prince smiled, the result ended up coming across more forced than natural.

Sebastian's infatuation with the Inquisitor had not gone unnoticed, especially since the monarch had done nothing to hide it. His mannerisms now raised sympathetic glances and hopeful sighs from every woman whom enjoyed the romance novel that had written itself before their very eyes for weeks, and saw now how the "lovers" were forced to part ways, both hearts breaking at the prospect of losing the other's proximity.

Or so they had decided to believe. The reality of it all was less romantic, and much more crude than the fantasy they had been constructing in their minds.

It was true that Sebastian was suffering at the notion of being away from Evelyn, wondering why the Maker had placed such a woman on his path and had stirred such feelings in his soul for the first time in his life if He did not intend to bless them in holy union. But there was something else that had happened between them which had prompted the somber attitude from the Prince, along with an almost primal desire to stay instead of parting ways as he had been forced to decide three days prior, because that morning Evelyn had knocked on his door, when the sunrise was nothing but a promise creeping timidly from behind the snowy peaks of the Frostback Mountains and not even Cullen had arisen from his bed, staring at his dilapidated ceiling after a night suffering from the same insomnia that had plagued the Prince and Inquisitor.

Even if he had been unable to sleep more than a couple of minutes in the last few hours, Sebastian was still lying on his bed in nothing but his smallclothes, tossing and turning incessantly. It seemed almost ridiculous to refuse to get dressed when all night he had been trying to get just a few hours of sleep and had only managed to slumber momentarily, never fully falling into the Fade, confusing reality in a haze of hope and fear, only to wake the next minute wondering if the lips he had felt over his or if the indignant look and the rejection he had felt had been real or just a figment of his troubled mind. But raising from his bed and dressing would mean the beginning of a day he refused to live, especially after being practically forced to leave her in Cullen's company the night before. Evelyn had not shown any signs of giving him an answer, and instead of being able to court her as was customary, he now had to depart after only 21 days in which he had gone from simple curiosity for meeting the so called Herald of Andraste, to getting to know her enough to ask her for the privilege to share a life at her side. It was completely unfair, and for the first time in ages, no matter how much he prayed for patience and a happy outcome, he was unable to feel the familiar comfort it usually granted him. And that had turned his once peaceful nights into an endless battle between wishes and worries, his hopes for the most hopeful outcome slowly turning to the most discouraging.

He was transitioning from one to the other when he heard the knock on the door.

Thinking it was Adair, he went to answer in naught but his smallclothes, already sighing at imagining why the advisor had bothered to come in the first place. Lately, and despite Sebastian's insistence that it was not necessary, Adair had decided to fill in for the role of father figure, giving him "father son" talks about marriage and how important this decision was, what his feelings were concerning Evelyn, and how delighted he was that Sebastian had chosen her to be the new Princess of Starkhaven, forcing the Prince to remind him once more that Evelyn had yet to decide whether to accept his proposal or not.

It was only when he had the doorknob in hand that he was proven wrong in assuming it was Adair on the other side.

-Sebastian, are you awake?- Evelyn whispered just enough to be heard, but so softly that if he would have been sleeping, she wouldn't have woken him up.

Her voice took him so much by surprise that he released the doorknob as if it had burned him, his mind urging him to answer before she thought he was sleeping and went away. After just a second of doubt, he took the doorknob again only to realize he was nearly naked, and though he had sometimes dreamed of being with her in a state of undress, he simply couldn't open the door like that now, not unless he wanted to frighten her with his forwardness. No, she had come to him by her own volition for the first time since he proposed. No matter what, he could not afford to make a single mistake. He was running out of time and every misplaced action could be his undoing.

-Yes... yes, I am, just... just one second, _leannan_.

Maker, he sounded like an adolescent who had been caught up in an indecent situation. He needed to relax!

Breathing deeply to calm his frantically beating heart, he grabbed the pair of trousers he had discarded over the back of a chair the night before and pulled them on in a flash while desperately looking for his tunic, which he faintly remembered tossing in a fit of frustration when he came back from the garden, and it had apparently disappeared without a trace when he needed it most.

Fearful that the longer it took him to reach the door, the more he would risk making her think he was indeed asleep, he decided he would open the door as he was. After all, she saw bare chested men every day in the training grounds, now that the weather was indulgent, and he had little option considering half his clothes were already packed.

As it turned out, he had underestimated her, or at least that was what her gasp at seeing him topless had him believe, along with another much more pleasant feeling of pride when she could not help but stare at him for just the briefest of moments.

Finally, she spoke.

-Is this a bad time? I can come back later, if you like.

-No! On the contrary: I'm happy to see you. Come in,- he invited while shifting to the side to allow her access, and enjoying how her face was beginning to show a lovely shade of rosy pink at the sight of him.

She entered cautiously, stopping only a few steps away from the door, cursing inwardly Sebastian's insistence on having a normal bedroom instead of a much more opulent (and large) one Josephine had offered, which would have allowed her to maneuver more comfortably without forcing her to come too close to his bed. It wasn't that the room was small per se, but the armchair close to the entrance forced her to step in even further than she had originally intended, positioning her about three steps away from the bed, which to her dismay was in complete disarray, speaking of a fitful night. Sebastian had apparently been having trouble drifting off just as much as she had, and she feared it was for similar reasons.

-I'm sorry to disturb your rest, but I needed to speak with you in private.

She heard the door close softly, his steps coming her way, and her heart began to pound in her chest at his proximity. She couldn't deny Sebastian had quite an effect on her, but she also knew that much of it was due to her limited experience in these sorts of situations, and the fact that he represented a struggle she was not yet ready to face, but was still forced to acknowledge.

-You never disturb me, _leannan_. Whatever time I have left here is yours to take.

He sounded so sincere, so caring that her heart broke beyond the million pieces that were already scattered throughout her chest since all of this began. Without being able to stop herself, she closed her eyes tightly and whispered.

-Don't make this harder than it already is…

Her voice had been so small, though, that no one, not even elves with their keen sense of hearing, would have been able to decipher it correctly, especially when she faced the other way, but her tone and body language was enough to concern Sebastian, who raised his hand to her arm, caressing his way to her shoulder to softly nudge her to turn toward him. The fact that Cullen had done exactly the same thing the night before did not help the situation either.

-What is it, Evey?

Turning to face him was a mistake; she knew it from the bottom of her heart, but she could not, in good faith, tell him what she needed to without looking him in the eye, so after a second of facing him with her eyes closed, she opened them only to find herself looking straight at the tanned skin of his chest, the primary reason behind why she quickly rose her gaze to find his looking warmly at her. They weren't touching, but she could see in his eyes how much he was struggling to stop himself from reaching toward her.

After a moment of staring at each other and trying her best to resist all the emotions reflected in Sebastian's eyes, she dropped her head once again, unable to find the words.

-Maker, I'm an idiot!

His hands raised again to her upper arms, and he tenderly caressed her, frowning worriedly.

-Don't say that.- She shook her head and he took her chin to redirect her eyes to him. -Whatever you need to say, I'm here for you.- Her frown grew, her face the perfect echo of pain, making his stomach tense, fearing the worst. Still, perhaps she was there to surprise him and she was just nervous. -Would you like to sit, darling?

And without waiting for her answer, he grabbed the small sofa and slid it beside his bed. She sat a moment later, and he did the same on the edge of his bed, looking at her. When she still didn't say anything, he took the hands she had left limp on her knees to call her attention back. Just a second later, she spoke.

-I wish I could have met you before.

A part of him wanted to think she was aching at his departure as much as he was, that her words were due to the anguish of seeing his visit come to an end and the fact that they didn't know when they could be together again, that all of this, her knocking on his door before sunrise, had nothing to do with Cullen talking to her last night, that whatever chance he had before yesterday was still there. But deep down, he feared something entirely different.

-All my life, every time someone spoke about marriage, I imagined someone like you,- she smiled sadly. He raised her hands to his lips, the kiss barely a caress over her skin. When she pressed her hands in his, he looked back at her face again, and found her in a state of misery.- And now that I have you...

Her voice caught on a sob, and then he knew. She was rejecting him, and in the midst of his agony, his heart racing as if struggling to keep working despite how shattered it felt, he knew the reason behind her decision.

-You deserve someone who loves you... and I can't give you that now.- She disentangled one of her hands and took something out of her pocket. The Prince knew what it was even before she placed the little box in their joined hands. -I wish I could accept… I really do, but it wouldn't be fair for either of us...- She stopped there, her mouth pressing to a thin line as her teeth bit down on her lips from the inside. Then she whispered one last thing, her eyes closing in remorse. -I'm sorry, Sebastian.

He wanted to fight for her, to tell her that love would come eventually, that they just needed more time together, that he would do whatever was necessary to make her love for him bloom as much as he feared he was falling for her. He was even about to tell her that he would send Adair in his stead to rule in his name, that he could stay and show her they could fall in love if they gave this a chance. But somewhere deep down he knew he shouldn't. He knew that, even if he were to do those things, it would not work between them. Not if her heart longed for someone else. Someone who he couldn't compete with, for he had already claimed the place in her heart Sebastian had wanted to make his home.

Resigned to his fate, he raised a hand and caressed her cheek softly, hating the fact that this would be the last time he would be able to touch her like this. She didn't belong to him, nor would she ever, and when she opened her eyes and looked at him, he smiled bittersweetly.

-The Commander is a lucky man.

After that, she had been unable to stop a pair of tears from falling down her face, and Sebastian had dried them with his thumbs, smiling and reassuring her when she asked for his forgiveness. She told him she had never wanted to hurt him, and he made sure to tell her he would never dream that. And even when he comforted her and told her there was nothing to forgive, since her heart, just as his, could not be commanded, inside he felt an urgent need to drop to his knees and beg her to give it a chance. He knew he could make her happy if she only let him. He knew that perhaps even if she would not feel the same for him as she apparently did for the Commander, she might eventually, and he burned to tell her that he didn't mind how long that took, that he would wait as long as necessary, that she didn't need to give him back the ring, that she could keep it in case she changed her mind.

But then he remembered the glances he had witnessed whenever she thought no one was looking, and she allowed herself to look back at Cullen. He remembered the yearning in her eyes, and the pain in both when they stole a glimpse toward the other. And he knew then that, no matter what he did, she would never be his. She could learn to love him in time, but she was right: it wouldn't be fair on either of them.

So later that morning when everything was ready, and she stepped ahead to fare him safe journey, he kissed her hand and smiled at her, trying to convey all the comprehension and support he could, whispering he would ever be there to her, no matter what, as a friend and an ally, biting back more lovely words that were no longer his to say.

Once Skyhold was nothing but a dot on the horizon, he prayed once more. This time, he begged for the Maker and his Bride to bring her all the happiness he had wanted to give her.


	46. Chapter 46

Chapter 46: Three Words Change Everything

A few hours after Sebastian's departure, the keep had fallen back into its normal routine, and Cullen and Fenris met in the courtyard where some of their men would begin their joined training. Not all of them would train together, of course; Skyhold was not large enough to allow that, but they could at least select a group per day to train, who in turn could train the others until their turn was up.

The men had been eager to learn, any friction that might have appeared the night before long forgotten in the hopes of working together. Indeed, there were no brawls nor provocations, not even a glare between them, all recognizing the previous night's events as nothing more than what they were: a drunken brawl.

The same could not be said of Fenris, who still reserved his opinion on the Inquisitor harboring Tevinter mages in her fortress, but after spending the night reading all the information Leliana had given him on Dorian, he was at least willing to accept that the man was not, in fact, a magister. Not that this granted Dorian any other privileges. Fenris' past clouded his judgment sometimes; he was honest enough to admit that, but his caution had kept him going for as long as he could remember, and he was not about to forget that now in favor of playing nice with the Inquisitor's friends, no matter how much Hawke seemed to take a shining to Dorian.

Nevertheless, Fenris was first and foremost a professional, and was not going to let his personal feelings affect his performance as Commander of his forces, nor tarnish Sebastian's image in any way, not even now that he knew Evelyn was not to become Starkhaven's beloved Princess.

With that thought, he turned a glance to Cullen. The Commander was pairing his men with Fenris' to have them spar so he could assess their abilities against each other, to then decide which points of their training they should reinforce and which should be exchanged between the troupes.

Cullen was yet another reason that Fenris had to trust his instincts. He had seen the way the Commander looked at the Inquisitor to the point where Cullen reminded him of Carver looking at Merrill, with a longing that always threatened to overcome him. He had also noticed the way Evelyn seemed to stiffen every time her eyes met Cullen's, her demeanor not completely uncomfortable, but rather one of grief for the loss of something very dear to her. Realizing that knowledge could hurt his friend. He had at first doubted whether to tell Sebastian about it, but when the Prince proposed to her, he had approached the subject in the best way he could, surprised to hear that Sebastian had noticed the same things Fenris had, but still held hope to win her heart.

In the end it hadn't worked, and Sebastian had graciously stepped aside, asking him to treat both Cullen and Evelyn as if nothing had happened, knowing Fenris was prone to be reserved (at best) with those that, even indirectly, had caused his friends pain.

As it turned out, Sebastian needn't have worried. Fenris was sorry that the Prince had to suffer, but he had also recognized the pain in the Commander's eyes from the moment he arrived, when he stood stiffly by the Inquisitor's side, his eyes drifting to look at her only to force himself to look back at Fenris a second later, or how he had punched Sebastian after stoically resisting every advance the Prince had made with her. He felt sorry for Sebastian, but no matter how much he tried, he could not be angry with Evelyn for choosing the Commander, either.

His thoughts were cut off when Cullen himself stepped closer to inform him the men were ready to begin. Fenris nodded and prepared himself for what he knew would be a very long day.

When both Commanders began to bark orders, the Inquisitor spared a few seconds to look down to the courtyard from the ramparts on her way to the mage's tower. She had chosen to take the garden's route mainly to avoid Cullen, and even though having to pass through the same place where he had begged her not to marry Sebastian was not exactly pleasant, she tried her best not to look at where they'd stood the night before, rushing to the ramparts instead, even ignoring the voice of Mother Giselle calling her from afar.

She didn't want to talk to anyone now. Today, things were still tumultuous from the Prince's visit, too fresh in everyone's mind, and last night's celebrations still had many flinching at the intense light of the sun and loud noises after indulging in too much alcohol mere hours ago, when the more intrepid had finally decided the sun raising was a good moment to end the festivities. Tomorrow everything would slowly begin to have a sense of normalcy, and for that she needed to be in her best shape. Sadly, that was not possible right now, nor as long as she kept disregarding rest. Over the course of last week, she had slept less than ten hours in total, and now that Sebastian was gone, the effects were catching up with her. Sleep, though, was not one of those effects.

She was tired, and every bone in her body felt as if it weighed ten times more, but when she went to her room to see if she could catch a couple of hours of rest, she had simply laid there looking at the canopy that by now seemed too familiar, each imperfection in the fabric like an old enemy coming back to taunt her for her inability to relax. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't, and after an hour of lying down to no avail, she decided to do something about it.

She didn't usually resort to magic or potions in situations like this. She didn't even do so when they came back from the Western Approach and she had enough reasons to hate being awake and being asleep as well, but soon (very soon, if she had any say in the matter) she'd be back on the road, and even though Sebastian was gone, Cullen remained, which meant her mind and heart would continue their eternal fight in the hopes of making her decide on either logic or emotion once and for all. Unfortunately, until that happened she would struggle to even get a couple of hours if she didn't do anything to fix it unnaturally, and that was a hazard she didn't need on their missions, which were already dangerous enough. Less sleep meant slower reflexes, and though she wasn't great at remembering to look after her own welfare, a mistake in combat could put her friends in danger. And that was not something she was willing to risk.

Her solution was simple: find one of the mages in the tower and beg for their help… and their discretion. She could have gone to Solas for help; she was certain the elf would give her what she needed without judging her or even commenting on the matter, but when it came to Solas, silence did not translate to indifference, and admitting her problem would result in the elf monitoring her health from that moment until he considered her better. It all came from a good place, from the friendship they shared, as she had also worried about him when he lost his friend in the Exalted Plains. She appreciated that, especially knowing Solas wasn't exactly prone to nurturing friendships, but she didn't need the extra attention. She was not so naive as to believe her friends didn't suspect something was different about her, speculating with varying degrees of accuracy on the root of her problems, but it was one thing to be watched as a precaution driven by a suspicion than to have one, or all of them, know for sure that something was wrong.

When she arrived at the Mage Tower, she found it almost deserted. That was no surprise, since most of Skyhold's inhabitants were nursing severe hangovers that needed to be treated if they wanted to do anything more than moan pitifully all day. The rest of the mages, who were not busy helping others, were attempting to cure the aftermath the alcohol had had on themselves as well, leaving the tower almost exclusively to one mage, in particular.

-Inquisitor,- was Gereon Alexius' only greeting.

Since the months she had assigned Alexius to research magic for the Inquisition, he had taken great strides. He no longer talked derisively about the Inquisition, and little by little had won the small amount of freedom he was now allotted. Evelyn and her advisors often talked about him in their war councils, and though only she and Dorian knew in detail the true extent of the magister's power and the damage his abilities could have brought to Thedas, she was surprisingly the only one in those meetings who spoke in favor of the man. Giving him too much freedom was dangerous, but everything he had done had been in the hope of saving his son from the Taint... and despite all his efforts, he had not succeeded in that endeavor, either. He had mourned Felix, and still did, but his heart was no longer invested in experimenting with the natural influx of time. In fact, he had provided great intelligence on their enemy, giving them several new tools to protect themselves from the Red Templars and the mad magister's power.

-Has Starkhaven's Commander asked for my head yet? I heard he was after Dorian, and he was not even a magister.

He rarely teased anyone anymore, but his words now reached their target whether he had intended it or not, and Evelyn sighed at realizing Alexius' presence in Skyhold would be yet another thing she'd have to explain to Fenris... impossible as that might seem.

-Fenris isn't aware of your existence. I'd appreciate it if you kept a low profile in the meantime until I can figure out what to do about that.

At this, Alexius nearly chuckled.

-Considering what I know of Danarius' former pet, I'm more than happy to agree with your request.- He made a sardonic half bow. Evelyn's hand raised to her forehead automatically, rubbing her temples as she tried to sooth the headache lurking just beneath the surface.

-Don't call him that; he won't exactly appreciate it.- Her tone had enough of a begging quality to apparently trigger mercy in the magister.

-No, I imagine he wouldn't,- he nodded, turning to a storage container filled with the latest herbs harvested from the gardens. When he gave his attention to her again, he saw Evelyn was still massaging her temples, her head lowered. -But if it's not him who brought you here, why have you come to my studio?

Whatever changes she had noted in the magister over the last months still hadn't tamed the occasional moments when his overbearing personally surfaced, as if he was still in Tevinter and the master of all around him. The fire in his eyes when he behaved like that had dimmed, though, helping her realize that those snarky comments were more force of habit than due to truly feeling superior. Still, that didn't mean she should indulge him, especially when her patience was already thin to begin with.

-This is the mage's tower of Skyhold, Alexius. It is a studio for _all_ the mages, as you call it. But I didn't come to discuss semantics.

The man simply nodded at that, probably also realizing his old self had arisen subconsciously.

-You seem troubled. Is there any way I can help with your problem?

Despite his words, his tone sounded more detached than holding any actual concern, and Evey remembered Dorian saying that had been the magister's chosen defense mechanism. _He thinks of himself as a prisoner and nothing more, because if he allows himself to care, he might suffer again. It's all very dramatic,_ her friend had said. She was not too sure about that, but Dorian had been Alexius' apprentice, his _only_ apprentice, and as such had come to know the man better than she ever would, so that was why, despite her best instincts, she was willing to give Dorian's theory a chance.

Still, doing that and trusting the magister to keep her secret were two different things, and that's why, while she was still thinking of something to say that wouldn't reveal anything too personal, her mouth took the helm without letting her think twice about how much her words might affect the man.

-Only if you can change the past,- she whispered, and the moment the words left her lips, she knew that if she were to have buried a dagger directly in the magister's heart, she would have pained him less.

When he answered, Alexius's words were tinged with enough sadness to make her want to kick herself.

-We both know I tried, but I'm afraid that's beyond my capabilities.

She frowned, recognizing the bitter attempt at humor to hide the true hurt he experienced, likely recalling that his plans to go back in time and stop the hurlocks from infecting Felix had left him with nothing but regret and a deep sense of failure and unfairness.

-Alexius I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...

The magister just raised a hand, stopping her.

-Do not worry. I've learned to live with… Felix's passing, if not quite accepting it.

His deep voice faltered when he said his son's name, and Evelyn felt like the cruelest woman in Thedas for forcing him to relive those memories. She was about to ask his forgiveness again when the man spoke, having apparently overcome his grief.

-But you didn't come here to talk about that.

Evelyn tensed immediately, and Alexius noticed it. She began to trip over her words, desperate to remember the excuse she had practiced to disguise her predicament as no more than exhaustion after hosting the Prince, while still trying to plan her next journey and prepare for it. She pitifully managed to say that her lack of sleep was because she had worked late most of the last week, neglecting her rest to wake early enough to seize the day completely, something she needed to do forced by the circumstances of playing Inquisitor and hostess at the same time.

When she finished, nothing convinced her that the other man had believed her, and there was a reason for that. First, she recognized her own clumsiness at trying to mask her difficulty, and secondly, the way Alexius looked at her told her without a doubt that the man had not believed a single one of her excuses, even if he wouldn't be able to pinpoint precisely what had provoked her insomnia. Still, the man surprised her by faking a credulity he didn't have.

-I think I know what you need. I'll ask Iona to mix the potion right away.

Ever since his trial, Alexius had been closely guarded by a couple of templars carefully chosen among Cullen's best men, both constantly in his shadow, and even though he enjoyed more freedom today than he'd originally had, especially since Leliana decided he was trustworthy enough to take off his shackles, he was not exactly free of suspicion. He was not allowed to mix potions or perform spells without someone there to monitor him, his personal templars prepared to smite him if he stepped over the line.

Perhaps it was her tired mind dulled by lack of sleep, or the guilt at rubbing his son's passing in his face, or just that deep down she truly believed it was time to grant him more freedom, but when the man began to take the stairs to look for Iona on the first floor, she spoke up behind him.

-I trust you to do it.

Alexius turned to look at her, and she recognized in his expression both surprise and true gratitude, mixed with a sarcastic humor that reminded her of Dorian.

Then, he smiled.

-I appreciate the gesture, Inquisitor, but not many share your opinion of me nor your trust. If word were to reach your Spymaster, and you can be certain that it would, I'd be back in enchanted shackles before I could argue.- Then his smile widened, along with a hint of mischief that made her feel as if the magister knew exactly what was behind her issues. -And that is without even considering the _Commander's_ reaction.- She clasped her hands tightly together behind her back at mention of Cullen, trying to mask how thinking of him affected her. The magister then took the first step of the staircase, almost bumping into the templars that followed him everywhere, and pointed at them. - _They_ have specific orders and recommendations to deal with me. -He then made a gesture with his hand, as if dismissing anything she might say about it. -Don't worry, the potion is nothing out of the ordinary, especially not after tonight. Everyone seems in desperate need of a restful night, and even so it is a common request.- He then seemed to remember something, walking to the shelf labeled "Exalted Plains Resources" and taking a fresh batch of what Evelyn thought was Embrium. -We use it to calm soldiers or pilgrims who are having trouble dealing with what they have seen or lived.- Then in a more somber tone, -It helped me, personally.

After that, he went to find Iona, the templars following him to the stairs, giving the man enough room to roam freely through the tower, but still keeping their eyes on him just by climbing a couple of steps if they needed it.

For the first few minutes, the only things breaking the silence were Gereon and Iona's whispers (some mages still couldn't get over the habit they'd formed in the Circles of whispering while working, especially when in close proximity to Alexius' templars) and the clinking of glass containers and vials while the mages worked upstairs. Slowly but surely, things began to feel more natural, and even the templars who were previously on edge from her presence began to relax, distracting themselves by talking to one another without neglecting their duty, still checking upstairs from time to time.

At first Evelyn paid no attention to their talk, but when the men mentioned Cullen, her ears tuned in to them immediately.

-Hey, I just found out: did you know that Jasper decided to follow the Commander's example and give up lyrium?

-Yes. He's been feeling miserable ever since. He gets awfully tired and goes to bed without caring if he's still in full armor. Last night, they heard him moaning in agony while sleeping from the headaches, and when they woke him up, he got up and ran to the well, screaming about being terribly thirsty. Barton told me that when he touched him, he was freezing, and that Jasper looked at him as if he was a total stranger. Said he actually asked him why they were outside.

-Maker…! Does Commander Cullen know about this?

-'Course he does. Said it's all normal. He went through the same thing, and with time things'll get easier.- From her place a few steps away, while she pretended to read a book someone had left open over a desk, Evelyn clenched her jaw, fighting the tears welling in her eyes at imagining what Cullen had suffered. And at the memory of the night she had found him in his room, burning with fever…

Her hand that held the book slightly up, as if she were reading it, tightened around the leather cover. She could almost feel Cullen's touch that night, the small hairs on the back of her neck prickling at the memory of his breath on her skin when she had taken his shirt off.

Evelyn took a slow, purposeful breath, hoping to not be discovered by the templars while she was eavesdropping on their conversation, when the one that had been speaking kept going.

-The Commander's monitoring Jasper's progress and they talk all the time to see how he's holding up.

The Inquisitor had her back to the men, so she couldn't see the other man nod slowly, as if he was analyzing the situation and wasn't certain if Jasper's decision had been the wisest thing to do. Finally, the man looked at his companion and asked in a small voice,

-Would you go through with it?

The other took his time to answer, apparently thinking carefully.

-Eventually. But not yet. Jasper said that being close to the mages makes him feel crazy, like his blood is boiling over, and he could hear his heart in his ears if they had recently taken lyrium. That's too much of a risk for me, at least so long as I'm stationed here.- Another pause, -But yeah, eventually when my abilities are no longer needed.

-Has Jasper told the Commander about what he feels around the mages?

-I don't think so, no. Why?

The other man seemed wary of talking now, as if he was afraid someone would hear them. Evey tensed in place, unable to move now or the men would remember her presence and shut up, but at the same time she felt like even her breathing was too loud and might break the moment, causing them to drop the subject and leave her with this intense sense of foreboding.

-Yesterday I was doing my rounds, and I heard Captain Rylen talking to the Commander. They were speaking about it. The Commander told Rylen that if anyone wanted to quit while they were stationed in the Approach, he should warn them not to take any chances, that lyrium could have worse consequences than just the physical part.

-Of course it does; you can _die_ from it! Haven't you heard the stories of templars who left the order and lost their minds to the song until they starved to death without realizing they needed food to live?

-No, I don't think that's what he meant, though.- He paused, and his companion waited until he gathered the courage to keep going. When he spoke again, it was done so quietly that Evey almost stopped breathing for fear of missing something. -Commander Cullen said he would gladly suffer everything again if he could just get back what he lost when he wasn't careful enough while fighting the song.

-…What did he lose?

-I have no idea. He just said, "I lost plenty". But I'll tell you, he looked heartbroken when he said it.

oOo

That night, Cullen climbed the stairs to his tower after taking a quick shower and fighting the exhaustion that was slowly claiming him. They had been training his and Fenris' men all day, and though at first they had only remained on the sidelines, yelling orders to both Skyhold and Starkhaven's soldiers, it became painfully apparent that they would have to join them to show exactly what was expected of them. And that was precisely what they had done. For eight hours, uninterrupted. First with swords and shields, and eventually even sparring to show the men how to defend themselves in the event that they were disarmed. All of it reminded Cullen of how out of practice he was, the life of a Commander too stationary to keep his fighting skills honed enough to fight someone as skilled as Fenris, who could make him sweat just trying to keep up with his stamina and abilities. At least he should be grateful that he had not actually lost any of the encounters, though he had not won, either, though he suspected the elf had eased off on some occasions to spare him the shame of being beaten in front of his men. Fenris might have the lyrium in his tattoos on his side, feeding his stamina to easily rise victorious, but at least Cullen had made the elf sweat just as much, and that was saying something. Beyond that, he was secretly grateful that Fenris had pushed him to the limit, since it would allow him to go upstairs and into his tower, climb the ladder to his room and fall onto his bed, exhausted enough to drift off straight into the Fade without so much as a second to spare thinking about his problems... and about her.

He hadn't seen her since Sebastian left with his men and Rylen, and had not received any news about what she had decided about the Prince's proposition. While sparring with Fenris, Cullen had tried to burn all his frustrations and pain, if only to prevent him from dropping everything in the elf's hands to go look for her. He had no idea what he would have done once he was in front of her, and that alone had been enough reason not to do so at the time, never mind once he was free after they'd called it quits for the day once the sun began to fall over the horizon.

Afterward, he had gone through some of Rylen's old duties, inspecting the soldiers' new equipment, arranging night shifts, and even making a quick trip down to the main camp to speak to his lieutenant about the men assigned to this month's requisition parties. Then he had come back to Skyhold after dinner, deciding to skip it altogether instead of bothering the kitchen staff or asking them to heat something up and send it to his office, favoring a cold shower instead. The grime of the day had rinsed away, intensifying his exhaustion after all his muscles had relaxed during the short but calming wash.

As he entered his office, he promised to ignore whatever paperwork would be waiting for him on his desk, and would remain on the lower floor only long enough to extinguish the two candles still burning before going up to bed the second they burned out, dropping his armor that he was now carrying in his hands without even bothering to put it on its stand in his need to reach the bed.

And as it turned out, as per usual, other things got in the way.

When he stepped closer to his desk, grunting at all the paperwork piling up after only one day out of his office, something else called his attention.

He rounded the corner of the desk until he was at his chair, staring at a small package and sitting down while taking it in hand. It felt light, but solid, as if something was inside. There wasn't a letter that went with it, nor any sigil to identify it as another gift from some Orlesian noble who thought he was easily swayed by sweet words and fancy gifts. It was a simple piece of red fabric held together by a black ribbon. The colors could mean anything; off the top of his head, he counted the Antivan Crows, the dwarven Merchants Guild, a few Circles of Magi and even the Amell Family Crest from Hawke's mother's side, as using those colors in their sigils, but there was something else, some other heraldry he was missing that seemed particularly important.

The answer came while he turned the package in his hands.

Starkhaven's Coat of Arms was three black mythological beasts circling a white cup in the center of a round, red shield emblazoned in the middle of a white background.

More carefully than he would have even if he had confirmed it was from the Crows, he began to unravel the strange gift, wondering what in Thedas had prompted Sebastian or Adair to leave something like this behind for him.

When the fabric was completely displayed over the palm of his hand, the ribbon lost somewhere on the floor where it had fallen, he stared at the black queen chess piece resting there, along with a small bit of parchment right in the middle of the red silk. Believing this was nothing more than mockery to provoke his ire, taunting him by delivering into his hands the only queen Cullen would ever win from Sebastian, he took the marble piece and unfolded the small paper.

In the span of a heartbeat, Cullen's door slammed behind him with a thunderous sound, the Commander rushing like the wind toward Skyhold's main hall.

Behind him, open on his desk, laid the black queen next to a brief, yet powerful message in Prince Sebastian's handwriting.

 _She said no._

oOo

Evelyn was getting ready for bed, clad only in a thin robe, her feet bare and hair loose, cursing under her breath when she noticed the pitcher she kept in her room in case she got thirsty was empty.

Alexius had specifically instructed her to put half a thimble of potion in a glass of water, or otherwise carry the bitter aftertaste into the next day, so considering she was already dressed for bed, she asked one of the soldiers stationed at her doors if they could refill the pitcher for her. She didn't like doing that, feeling it was obnoxious to request soldiers to do tasks that she could easily relegate to household staff. Not that she used them, either.

This time, it was either get dressed again and fetch her own water, or politely ask someone else to do it for her, and she begrudgingly chose the latter. She had heard the watchmen announcing Cullen's return to the keep, and she wasn't exactly keen to cross paths with him until it was wholly inevitable.

So when she heard the knock on her door five minutes later, she logically assumed it was the guard returning with her water, and absently called for him to enter without even considering that it could be someone else. As she heard them coming upstairs, she moved back to her desk to retrieve the potion. But the person who entered with her water was not just another soldier.

-Evey.

His voice sent a shiver down her spine, catching her completely by surprise.

Climbing the stairs of a tower room had never unnerved Cullen as it did tonight, but at the same time, he had never reached the highest point of any tower so quickly, only slowing down when the pitcher he was delivering for one of the guards began to spill. Things had turned out well so far. He had feared she wouldn't let him in once he announced himself at her door, but her request for water had given him the perfect way to get to her before she could dismiss him with another tired excuse.

He had asked the guards to move to the door of the great hall instead of standing directly outside her room in the event that she raised her voice while they talked. Should she loudly object to his presence, he didn't want rumors to spread. As for the gossip purely concerning the Commander entering the Inquisitor's room late at night, he was sure it would be short lived if it ever caught on. Even if things ended up going the way he prayed they did, he wouldn't linger too long in here, no matter how tempting the idea of staying the night and holding her in his arms was.

Yet no matter how he craved her touch, he couldn't. Yes, she had said no to Sebastian, but that didn't mean she had done so for his sake. He needed to be careful and not let his impulsiveness scare her off, as he had the night before.

But most of all, he needed her to spell out for him exactly what was going on. For better or for worse, tonight he would leave this room with a straight answer.

All strength left his knees at sight of her, his determination slipping away. His mind fantasized as he tentatively closed the distance, imagining in excruciating detail walking to her side of the room and kissing her until the sunrise forced them apart after a night dedicated only to themselves.

His frail willpower and complete adoration colored his words with such softness that for a second he wondered if she could hear him at all. The answer came when she tensed, dropping a small vial to the floor, where it rolled away from her below the desk.

She was beautiful, the deep blue silk hugging her in a way that called to his basic instincts and only made his intention of giving her space all the more difficult. When she turned to look at him, he could see the dark circles below her eyes, but the fatigue in her face was nothing compared to the surprise and dismay he saw in her eyes when she looked back at him.

-Cullen,- she barely said as more than a whisper, but the movement of her lips and the night breeze carried his name to his ears all the same. Looking back at him as if he were a dangerous predator, she took a deep breath as Cullen stared at her with clenched teeth to prevent his eyes from dropping. -What are you doing here?

-We need to talk.- His forehead wrinkled in a frown, staving off the pain of watching her build her walls to keep him away even as he stood before her.

Then she straightened herself and took a single report from her desk, casually walking away from him.

-Whatever it is can be discussed tomorrow morning. It's late now.

Once again she was dismissing him, but this time Cullen would not step aside. Instead, he walked forward, catching up on her in an instant.

-No, it can't,- he said from behind her, lowering his head close to her ear and watching attentively at how she shuddered at his breath caressing the back of her neck. He was being as impulsive as he had been the night before, invading her personal space in his desperation to not lose her again, but no matter how much his mind screamed that he was ruining everything, he couldn't wait another day.

For ages they stood beside glass doors leading to the southeast balcony, the only one visible from the ramparts outside his office, where he sometimes went to see if he could glimpse her there before the end of the day. Then, as softly as he could manage, he broke the silence.

-Why did you reject him?

It was a simple question, one that was almost impossible to answer. She knew why, and she worried Cullen knew also, for she was not sure how he had known she had refused to marry Sebastian. But no matter how she tried, she couldn't come up with a reasonable answer, one that would give her time to put her mind in order. Frustrated and exhausted from the agony that every second away from Cullen had given her, she relented a small measure of control over her mind to at least attempt to think clearly when Cullen's soft fragrance and warmth reached her. Unfortunately, that second was enough for her mind to take control and answer too sincerely.

-You know why.

That brief phrase had changed Cullen's life so completely that the turn of events made him dizzy. Without knowing he was doing the same thing as Evelyn, he closed his eyes tightly, praying to Andraste and the Maker for this to be real, and not another cruel and convoluted illusion brought on by the lyrium withdrawal.

Still, he needed to know for sure. She needed to drive the point home, and he needed to hear it from her own mouth.

Slowly, as if tasting each word, he spoke.

-I dare not speculate. Doing so might mean my foolishness has not cost me the chance of earning your love.

Evelyn's body trembled slightly, and she looked to be fighting back tears. Then, as volatile as Cullen knew she was, she turned to stare at him, retreating away to put distance between them, her eyes aflame and shaking her head repeatedly while she frowned in annoyance.

-You are not thinking clearly Cullen. Nothing has changed,- her eyes softened and her voice cracked.- The anchor is still there. It always will be.

Spurred by hope, Cullen took hold of her upper arms and looked at her so directly that her confident stance faltered.

-Evey, there hasn't been a day that's gone by where I haven't blamed myself for what happened,- he shook his head, leaning slowly toward her and softening his voice. -I betrayed your trust and I will never forgive myself for hurting you. But if you let me, I'll do whatever it takes to have you trust in me again.- He opened his eyes again and stepped back to give her space to think, making sure she was still listening to him, for what he was about to propose was something he would not offer lightly, and he needed to be certain that she would hear him.

-I'll even go back on the lyrium if that makes you feel safer around me. Anything, please,- he begged.

Evelyn wanted to retreat, but only managed to take one step back, Cullen's hands on her arms preventing her from going further. Her eyes were almost shining with sudden panic, and after the surprise of his ludicrous proposal, she didn't even try to hide it.

-Cullen, taking lyrium again could kill you.

His answer was immediate, and so sincere that it nearly destroyed her.

-I don't care, - he took one step back as well, so he could bend until he was at eye height with her. -There would be no more cravings, and I'll be more in control with myself. I will not waver again!- His hands on her arms squeezed at the last statement, desperate to make her understand. -I'll take any risk if that's what it takes for you to trust me again.

-But I can't!- she practically yelled. -I won't risk you dying!

Another wave of hope hit Cullen's chest so strongly that he thought his heart would give out. When he replied, he did so fearing her answer.

-Why?

-Don't be ridiculous.

She attempted to sound unattached, a desperate strategy to use the abilities her advisors, Dorian and Vivienne had taught her. And even though she hated how she sounded, especially when directed at Cullen, she was determined to get away from him before she made a mistake.

But words were only that, and she was unable to impact the meaning she was aiming for with finality. She tried to walk away again, she even turned in his arms in the hopes he would let her go. Cullen, though, was having none of it, and instead of softening his grasp he shook her softly, forcing her to face him again, even when she still refused to look him in the eye.

- _Tell me_.- He used his commanding voice without even realizing, but in the depths of his insistence was enough resemblance to a prayer, which was reassuring.

She could say it was because of the Inquisition, that they needed him to command their army, that his council and strategic knowledge could save them, that he was a key member of their organization and that if they wanted to stand a chance against Corypheus, they could not afford to lose him. Even if all of that was true, it had nothing to do with the true reasons behind her refusal to allow him to take lyrium again.

Shutting her eyes tightly, she spoke, her whole body fiercely fighting to contain the wave of emotion threatening to break. She had been coerced to confess what her heart had been screaming from the very second she admitted to herself that she was falling for him, and had known he was risking his life at trying to fight his lyrium addiction.

-Because I can't bear the thought of you dying!

The words echoed in the spacious room as if they were in a cave. In her ears, she heard them reverberate off the walls as though mocking her for her weakness in admitting her true feelings. Then the words quieted in her mind, replaced by the sound of Cullen sighing, heavily and slowly, as if he was breathing for the first time in nearly a month.

Her eyes still closed, she felt him lean forward, his forehead touching hers, and his words caressing her lips.

-Why did you reject him?- This time, the question sounded more confident, but spoke of a hint of anxiousness.

Cullen's whole body was calling for hers, and the pounding of her heart quieted any voice in her head that tried to have her answer with anything but the complete truth, splaying her heart open to him.

-I couldn't marry him when all I could think of was you.

The kiss came almost as the last word was leaving her lips, Cullen's mouth crashing against hers with all the passion and need that they had repressed, ever since that morning when she left his arms.

As Evey's body relaxed in his embrace and her body fused to his, Cullen swore to himself that no matter what happened or whoever tried to come between them, he would never let her go again.

oOo

 **Author's Note: Hey everybody! I hope you enjoyed this last chapter. I almost cut it off when Cullen found Sebastian's note, but I thought it wouldn't be fair to do that and then do this: I'm sad to announce that I have to stay away from this story for a while. My last semester in the University is coming to an end, and I really have to focus on my studies if I want to pass my finals. I'm very sorry, but that's how things are. Nevertheless, I promise I'll come back with everything somewhere around Christmas so we can explore together what now looks like a brighter future for Cullen and Evey.**

 **Don't hate me (especially you Magister of Asariel, I know you just caught up with the story last weekend) I promise I'll make it count! I have great ideas to make you all blush and love me as much as you hated me for the last month or so with Sebastian's arc.**

 **Still, to everyone out there that thought Sebastian was a bad guy: SEE? He's a good guy! ;)**


	47. Chapter 47

**_Hello everyone! I'm sooo sorry for the delay. I know I said "somewhere around Christmas but one of the computers in my home broke and I had to take mine downstairs therefore losing much of my privacy. I can't explain how difficult it is to write in the middle of the usual ruckus of my house. Plus holidays are a busy time to everyone and that includes me and my beta so it took us longer than we expected to get this chapter ready but WE ARE BACK! Hope you enjoy it!_**

oOo

Chapter 47: Letters

Before becoming the Inquisitor, Evelyn had never left the Free Marches, though she knew her homeland from top to bottom and had traveled to some places more than once. Back then, she had believed nothing could impress her more than the City State of Starkhaven. That image had etched into her mind from the very first time she had been there at the tender age of six. Everything was as fresh in her memory as if she had just been there: the imposing walls; the Minanter River feeding the mountain, crowned with concentric rings of tall gray stone from the northern side; the breathtaking marble palaces, set on the green hills and circled by broad boulevards; the opulence of its regal estates, with fountains that seemed enchanted to make the water reflect just the perfect light of the sun and make its waters dance; the granite road with the occasional marble and gold trims… Everything about it had made such an impression on her that she left it convinced that no other place could compare.

Until she traveled to the Emerald Graves.

It wasn't only the visual spectacle that captured her. The place was beautiful, of course, there was not denying that. It took only one look at the thick forest of the Dales to lose one's ability to speak. There were trees as far as the eye could see, and the wind slipping through the branches made the leaves dance and sing in perfect accordance with the soft sounds of the birds building their nests, the wolves rounding their territory to protect their kind, or the nugs scurrying below the roots that emerged from the most fertile grounds Evelyn had ever seen. It was soothing, as Solas had said, but deep down there was something more, each tree, memorializing the life of an elven warrior cut down by the Chantry in the Exalted March, seeming to loom over them as they passed, almost as if accusing them of representing the same religion that had condemned them to death. It was captivating, and heartbreaking all at once.

One night after setting up camp, she asked Solas if he felt the same sadness as she did whenever the wind ruffled through the leaves, creating a sound that resembled whispers from the past trying to find their way from the stony lips of the elvhen statues of the gods to their ears, or a howl from the wolf stone carvings that, in the middle of the night, looked as if they were mourning the lives of the People. And in that moment, for the first time, she saw complete and utter sorrow in her friend's face when he told her of the histories the Fade had shown him, of a time before the Chantry, before the humans, where the _elvhen_ had built a life in this wonderful land, feeding the earth with their magic and wisdom. That night was the first time she thought she saw Solas' eyes well up with tears. It lasted only a second before it was gone without a trace, but as his head raised toward one of the wolf statues, she saw his eyes glisten, as if he could see into the past and feel the lives the Chantry had severed. In that moment, Evelyn felt as an intruder in these lands, as if her mere presence was poisoning the memory of the elven warriors, and deep down, she wished she could remedy all the damage her people had once done to his.

It fell on Solas' shoulders to give her peace. He said, so somberly, that death was as inevitable as life, that each warrior knew his fate, and that the spirits of the _elvhen_ inhabiting the lands had long since found rest in their eternal slumber. The life still dwelling in the Emerald Graves kept their memory alive, ensuring they hadn't died in vain, and even after Orlais had tried to conquer the Dales, they had lost it just as easily.

-Everywhere you look, there stands a tree, a great ruin, or a guardian marking the _elvhen_ heritage of this land. Fear not, _ma'falon_ , their voices are still singing the song of victory, and are waiting to be heard. Your presence here is just another piece of that puzzle. The spirits feel the power that surges from your hand, recognizing it as the instrument by which peace will finally be achieved. They welcome you. Don't misconstrue their sorrow for what was lost with rejection of you and what you stand for.

That night, she dreamed of wolves, a large pack led by a massive, dark wolf with six glowing red eyes that, despite it all, appeared more caring and wise than threatening. She knew enough about the _elvhen_ legends to recognize the Dread Wolf. When she awoke the next morning, she found Solas staring at her, smiling bitterly, and even when his eyes seemed understanding, as if he too had experienced something similar whilst in the Fade, she didn't mention it, fearing she might hurt Solas more.

That afternoon, though, she asked after the statues, thinking they were endless representations of the Great Wolf. As per usual, Solas began to explain in that calming, scholarly tone the meaning behind the statues as he inspected one himself.

-No, these had nothing to do with Fen'Harel's questioned loyalty, nor with the fate the wolves faced when falling from the elves' graces simply for representing he of whom they feared most. This is from the time of the _elvhen_ Halamshiral, when wolves walked alongside Emerald Knights. It honors their unbreakable covenant, the wolves' fidelity to their eternal guard, protecting their chosen knight in battle until they were left behind to guard their slumber.- Up until then, he had spoken in that composed tone that so readily characterized him, only faltering imperceptibly when mentioning the fallen god, probably resenting the Dalish for yet another failed interpretation of _elvhen_ history. But then something changed in him, and disentangling his hands from behind his back, he approached one of the statues, softly placing his hand over the wolf's muzzle. After a short pause where he seemed to be lost in thought, his hand twitched and he lowered it at the same time his jaw tensed and his voice took on a resentful tone.

-It is but another example of the Dalish's inconsistency: they honor the guardians, but distrust the wolves for their association with the so called "Greatest Traitor."

Then his head fell as if defeated, and he sighed heavily.

Feeling guilty, Evelyn approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder, calling his attention to her again.

-I'm sorry if I upset you, Solas.

Her friend smiled, only the slightest trace of his previous resentment still burning in his eyes, and placed a hand over hers, removing it from his shoulder a second later.

-The Dalish are like toddlers trying to understand that which is beyond their comprehension. Their ignorance is not yours to bear, my friend, nor is the frustration that this may bring me.

After that he began to walk on again, catching up with Dorian and Blackwall while they set up the new camp at Briathos' Steps.

By the tenth day, the feelings the woods had awoken in her had receded to the back of her mind, still present, but as an intrinsic part of the land, as if the spirits of the warriors followed them quietly, observant and witnessing their path through their graves in silent resignation, growing curious with each rift she closed, but wary of their presence still. It could have all very well been part of her imagination, the ever presence of the lupine guardians' statues a fodder for her paranoia, or it may have been the wolves still honoring their oath, protecting the lands that once belonged to their knight companions, keeping a close eye on these new intruders. Being that as it may, the problems that had unfolded in the time since they'd arrived distracted her enough to incorporate those tensions as part of the scenery while fighting her way forward between Red Templars and Freemen alike, both enemy factions desperate in their attempts to drive the Inquisition out of what they considered their land, and therefore inadvertently working as allies.

Now one of those threats had been eliminated, the last of the Freemen's leaders gone. First it was Sister Costeau, who was, until now, living proof that entering the Chantry does not equal deserving to be called a saint. Her abilities surpassed any Evelyn had seen in a cloistered Sister, fighting more like a Chevalier than a member of the Chantry and imprisoning part of Fairbank's people. Ironically, it was the same sister that helped in her colleagues' demise, for she had two documents that revealed more than was wise: a map leading them to Commander Duhaime, who had been posted outside the abandoned Villa Maurel, guarding the entrance to the mansion where their leader, Maliphant, had been controlling their whole operation. Without the head of the organization, the only one left standing was a deluded Chevalier by the name of Auguste that, according to some letters found in Costeau's liar, had taken Argon's lodge for themselves, now available to Fairbank's men again.

It was there where the night of the tenth day found Evelyn, trying to organize the red lyrium smugglers' letters she had found on their way to stop the Freemen. The first one had been waiting for them near the Veridium Mine. As he fell to his death, the supervisor of the group had dropped a letter detailing the business they had created trading with the dangerous substance in complete ignorance of the hazards of delivering red lyrium rather than blue to anyone willing to purchase it. In the letter, a man named Vishlan was ecstatic at how much coin they were earning and considered the difference in color only a minor curiosity without too much consequence, stating that he would consult with one of their mages to see what that could mean. It wasn't until she found the second letter, one that was probably the answer to the first one, that she saw these men (or at least one of them) had something that resembled an actual working brain in his head, since in the second missive a man named Kells warned Vishlan that he had already consulted with a mage about the red lyrium, only to then watch the man go crazy just one night after he told him the dangers of the substance, stating that it was "like serving brandy in an ale tankard." Sadly, that did not discourage them, for they had even found a buyer for the sick mage. It was the name of the buyer what struck Evelyn, making her feel disgusted but also relieved when she found out that it was Samson who was trading with them and not a new character equally as crazy as him. That was something they didn't need, right now. What made her feel nauseous was the reason the ex templar gave when the smuggler asked why he was buying the sick mage: "To make something better of him," was Samson's answer.

Immediately an image of the Red Templars came to her mind, and with it the fate that Cullen could have faced if he had somehow followed Samson after the battle in the Kirkwall Gallows. She also wished Hawke had left the ex templar to rot in his misery, to die from lyrium delirium in the streets of Kirkwall instead of asking Cullen to reinstate him as a templar as a personal favor. But how could they have known? And even if they would have killed him, Corypheus would have surely found another ex templar craving lyrium and willing to do whatever it took in exchange for an unending supply of the substance.

In the solitude of her small room in Argon's lodge, leaning over an improvised desk covered with fresh parchment and ink to write to her advisors, she silently thanked the Maker for keeping Cullen out of danger, and for giving him the strength to fight his addiction.

With that thought, the inevitable desire to be closer to him that had stricken her since she left his side after only three days of getting back together came forth with a vengeance. For a moment, she considered writing to him. After all, she would need to send a letter to Josephine any day now concerning Villa Maurel and ask her to kindly contact the owner to tell him the Inquisition had unselfishly purged the renegades that had commandeered it while he was out, and suggest, like only the Antivan could, that his villa might serve the Inquisition well as he would no doubt agree that it was the least he could offer after they had so graciously recovered it for him. But that was not, sadly, important enough to risk a rider to deliver said message to Skyhold along with a more personal letter disguised as another report addressed to the Commander. Still, Fairbanks had told her, fulfilling his end of the bargain after she defeated the Freemen for him, that he had heard there was another smuggler outpost to the north, and with that he had given her the hope of finding more information about Samson to report to Cullen, and if that also gave her the excuse to send a letter along with the other reports to make her separation from Cullen more bearable, so be it. She would not risk a rider without reason, but would not waste an opportunity if it presented itself.

Three more days would pass before she got the chance to sit in Argon's Lodge again, this time with prisoners and another smugglers' letter in her hand. The men were extremely quiet and refused to talk, which she hoped would change the moment they arrived in Skyhold after being prisoners of the Inquisition. The letter didn't say much either, only that the second time Samson had demanded twice as much red lyrium as the first shipment, but since that was the last of the smugglers' camps in the region, she decided that information should suffice; after all, she didn't have any reason to think there would be more of them out there. Fairbanks had been in the area longer than her or Nightingale's agents, and since even they confirmed the man's words, she believed it was safe to assume she had gathered all the documents, and it was time to send the information to Skyhold where Leliana and Cullen could look further into it.

The reports for all three advisors were ready in less than half an hour, each no more than a methodical recollection of the things that she thought might interest them according to their particular specialties. She had included her request about Villa Maurel to Josephine and an addendum to inform Varric that she had found and destroyed another two red lyrium deposits. She knew her friend felt some of the weight he had laid on his shoulders lift each time they could destroy one of those veins. She had heard the story about Bartrand from the dwarf himself, and also from Hawke's lips, and she knew the storyteller wanted to do anything in his power to stop anyone from suffering the same fate as his own brother. Even if that meant he would not be present when they destroyed the deposits, it was enough to know they weren't there to hurt anyone anymore.

All of that had been the easy part. The other letter, the one meant for Cullen's eyes only, was harder.

If she were to give full rein to her feelings, she would write something that might scare him, or worse, make him fear that under the burning need of having him close she was hiding some sort of threat that she would not divulge to avoid distressing him. On the other hand, if she were to write whilst restraining herself too much, he might think the distance had made her unsure of her affections for him, and she wanted that even less than worrying him over her wellbeing.

After too many attempts, all of which laid now scattered all over the dirt floor, she came up with something that she hoped would serve not only to ease any fear he might have concerning her safety, but also to reassure him about her feelings.

oOo

Five days after the messenger left the Emerald Graves, a soldier knocked on the War Room door.

Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine had been there for more than two hours already, and though their discussion had begun with important matters, like the news about the rifts beyond reach of the Inquisition, now the conversation had degenerated to something as trivial and useless as whether Lake Calenhad actually was shaped like a bunny. Just when Leliana was beginning to see what Cullen had meant by that comment, the messenger arrived. As usual, it was Cullen who took the lead and greeted the man while both women were commenting on the now "adorable" lake.

-Report.

-Commander, ser, news from the Inquisitor.

The moment the soldier mentioned Evey, Leliana and Josephine stopped talking, and Cullen could feel their eyes on the back of his neck. He dismissed the man with a small utterance of thanks and quickly scanned the documents the man had left in his hand, hoping perhaps she had included something more than mere reports for him. He found it just before Leliana reached him, a smaller parchment with his name on it, and he smiled to himself before slipping it in one of the small pockets on the inside of his coat.

After that, every minute felt like an eternity and all attempts he could think of to shorten the council sounded too desperate in his head to even dream of voicing them, especially in Leliana's presence, so he stoically withheld from rushing to his office until both women decided that discussing the Inquisitor's news without taking the time to analyze each situation in detail to the best of their abilities was nothing but wasted time.

When he walked outside Josephine's office and fared Leliana good day in the rotunda, the letter in his pocket seemed to weigh a hundred times more, its presence as noticeable as a stone in his boot, but infinitely more welcome.

Entering his tower, he ordered his assistant to leave and, to make sure he was not disturbed, alleging he had received news of Red Templar movements, and he needed the time to study the situation. It wasn't exactly a lie if Cullen was being technical about it, but before even looking again at those reports, he needed to read her letter, to feel like she was a little closer, to make sure she was thinking of him as much as he was of her.

The last delay he allowed himself was to lock each door before sitting in his chair and opening her letter in complete haste, as if her words could cure him from a terminal ailment.

 _Cullen,_

 _Here the days are long and unpredictable, more often than not surprising us with another conflict to solve that keeps us another day away from home._

 _Blackwall broke a couple of ribs today fighting a giant when we raided the last of the Red Lyrium Smugglers' posts, but he is already recovering back at Argon's Lodge under Solas' careful watch. I imagine Leliana's intelligence has already informed you of the dragon in the region, but don't fear, I am not planning to challenge it. The creature has a lair in the northernmost area of the Graves, far away from any of our and Fairbank's camps, so I see no immediate reason to attack it, especially when it seems to be quite content with the abundant supply of giants at its disposal._

 _There are still some things to attend to and more rifts to close, but despite these problems, the beauty of this place makes it preferable to many others I have seen. Still, my mind seizes every moment of peace we have to wander beyond this forest and back into the Mountains, relishing the day when I can finally begin the journey back to Skyhold, and to you, once again._

 _Until that day, I carry you in my mind and my heart._

 _Evey_

He read the last part over and over, feeling his pulse hasten with each glance over the page, her words easing his doubts. At first, he had thought this was another letter for all the advisors, just another report, since even if it was directed specifically to him, it seemed only a recollection of the problems the Inquisitor and her group had found along their path. Now, as he read it for the fifth time, he realized that lengthy introduction was only to make him understand that even in the most dire circumstances, she thought of him. _Maker!_ How he needed her! This time away from each other was tormenting, and even though it was sweeter than the parting he had faced when they were away while Sebastian was in Skyhold, he still found himself resenting his obligations which prevented him from traveling with her, perhaps even sharing a tent again, but this time with the right to pull her closer to him and let roaming hands that had tempted and disturbed him so much when they were on the road to Orlais venture as far as she wanted, enjoying her touch and the fact that she was now his.

The idea of sleeping with her in his arms brought back the memory of the night he had gone to her room to ask for the reasons behind her rejection of Sebastian. When he'd kissed her, it was as if a dam had broken, and without being completely mindful of what he was doing, he'd found himself pressing her against one of her bed posts, almost as if he was intent on devouring her on the spot. She had been more than complicit in that idea if the sounds she'd made had been any indication, but as quickly as it had begun, after a couple of minutes he had stepped back, panting and feeling his body hate him for it, his desire only increasing at seeing her try to calm her breath, her hair in disarray and her lips slightly pink and swollen from their kiss. He had felt every muscle of his body twitch in protest, his skin tingling, still savoring the feeling of holding her flesh against him without armor to separate them.

After a few seconds of looking at each other with overwhelming hunger, she had lowered her eyes, looking at the floor as a deep blush crept from the depths of her robe and toward her neck, to finally tint her cheeks in a such a sinful scarlet that Cullen had needed to gather all his restraint to not carry her to bed to observe whether all her body flushed the same color while she screamed his name in blissful euphoria.

But instead of doing what all his body was screaming to do, he had stayed there, giving her time to recover, and had tried his best not to chuckle when she seemed to notice the evident effect their passionate moment had had on him when she began to move her eyes over his body, only to shift her weight from one foot to the other nervously.

-Cullen, I...- She had bitten her lip then, and he couldn't help the deep growl that surged from inside him, making her instinctively look into his eyes, the same desire reflecting in hers.

Still, as much as he wanted to forego the consequences, he also wanted to make things right this time. So, he had taken the same step forward that he had retreated before until he was close enough to her that he only needed to bend his head slightly to kiss her, but not enough to trap her with his body again. Then, as her eyes still focused on his, he caressed her lower lip with his thumb, releasing it from behind her teeth and breathing deeply as she shuddered.

Maker, the things she did to him.

His whole body had been locked with tension, and as he'd gathered the will to let her go and walk back to his tower, he feared she would say something that would destroy his resolve and facilitate something that she might later regret. That night, everything had been too new again. They had come back together after nearly a month apart, and the pain he had caused her was too fresh to push her beyond what he had done already.

The night when he would at long last have her, he wanted to feel her completely at his will as he would be at hers. There would be no doubts between them that could cloud the experience and keep her from realizing that he was completely and irrevocably in love with her, and was trying to tell her that in the only way he dared.

Alas, that was not the best night to profess his love with words or actions, at least not beyond the ones he had used thus far, and leaning over until his forehead had touched hers, he had reveled in each shared breath, and freed her lip only to claim it with his in a softer kiss before finally stepping back and, caressing her face, smiled at her.

-I know.

Her answer had been to laugh softly and hold him in a tight embrace, burying her face in his chest just over his heart, enjoying the sound of it thundering for her. Just as he had every time she had done that, Cullen had surrounded her with his arms and rested his cheek on her hair, filling his lungs with her perfume, as if that were the only air he could truly breathe.

Eventually, he'd let her go and had said goodbye, looking at her with all the tenderness he could muster.

Now, in his office and terribly far from her, Cullen regretted that decision. He knew that if he could travel back in time, he would have made the same choice, but now due to his solitude it seemed plainly stupid. Every moment they missed by being apart seemed so.

After a few seconds more of contemplating her letter, he knew then that he wanted to tell her all that and more. He wanted to compensate for their distance with words, but feared no matter how much he planned his words, nothing would be enough, except perhaps telling her he loved her… But that was too much, too soon, especially when he was still having trouble admitting it to himself. It was easy when he reminisced on a shared moment, or when he felt her absence in the depths of the night, when nothing else was there to distract him, but the second he stepped away from that overwhelming need he found himself fearing what he felt was more dependent on everything she made him feel, as if he had traded the lilting lullaby of the lyrium for her presence.

At that exact moment, he lowered his head, sighing in slight defeat when his eyes rested upon the last sentence of her letter.

 _Until that day, I carry you in my mind and my heart._

And that soothed him completely, almost as if she were there with him, enveloping his shoulders from behind and resting her head on the nape of his neck, her lips brushing over him as she whispered those beautiful words against his skin.

No, this was not just a fleeting infatuation, or like the addiction he used to have for lyrium that still plagued him from time to time. This was _more_ … _She_ was more, and even though he dared not call it love primarily for fear that such an intense emotion blooming inside him for the first time in his life would be met with rejection, he knew that she was still someone worth risking his very life to keep.

With that revelation came another problem. Regardless if, by some miracle, he was struck by one of those muses Varric used to pay tribute to when he felt particularly generous with sharing the credit of his greatest works, or if he was stuck with his, in his humble opinion, modest ability to express any sentiment beyond those strictly militaristic in nature (and especially any that involved matter of the heart, or even worse _his_ heart), he was forced to be almost painfully brief in his answer to her. All replies to any message the Inquisitor sent while on the road were usually gathered and delivered together, and therefore were more times than not reduced to the minimal extension and quantity. Or, in other words, one brief, methodic report from each of her advisors, and as things were, he feared his would be long enough already once he took a few days to interrogate the prisoners and try to glean more information about Samson beyond what she had already reported. Still, omitting a reply to her personal letter was out of the question, no matter how many strange looks he would receive if he failed to make it brief enough to avoid suspicions when his sealed report was bulkier than usual. Waiting would also be counterproductive; each day without her would only increase his need to tell her how missed she was, and therefore his ability to make his reply short would also diminish.

So, deciding not to delay it any longer, he began to write.

After only two attempts, he came up with something that he thought demonstrated his feelings as best as he could manage in the short amount of time he had. It wasn't an epitome of romantic poetry, but it was completely true, and that was more than he could say of the majority of romantic novels and poems ever published. Smiling, he read it again before taking it upstairs until the time came to add it to his report, thereby avoiding the chance of anyone finding the letter while shuffling through his paperwork.

 _My Dear Evey_

 _Days, as you put it, feel longer in your absence, even when your sweet words have made mine a bit brighter. The memory of your smile, the taste of your lips, and the softness of your skin evokes bittersweet fondness in my mind constantly, and only the knowledge that every day that passes by means one less away from you makes the wait tolerable._

 _Your reassurances ease my worries, yet even still I eagerly await the day that I might hold you again, safe in my arms._

 _Be careful, and come home soon._

 _Yours Always,_

 _Cullen._

When he rose and began the ascension to his private quarters, he did so thinking of the way he had addressed his letter. By far, that was his favorite part. Undeniably, there was an exhilarating pleasure at calling her "his", and not just in his mind like a guilty secret, but with the right to do so aloud, as well. She was his, and that never failed to quicken his heartbeat in the most enthralling way, a tempo only surpassed by how it raced when he held her close.

Before leaving his office, he prayed to the Maker to let him experience those sensations again very soon, certain that said prayers would be answered and that he would be able to kiss her before a fortnight.

But love, as it turned out, had made the Commander overconfident…


	48. Chapter 48

Chapter 48: Going Back to You

Cullen's letter was delivered inside the report that ultimately changed all of their plans. They had decided that they would close the last rift the next morning and begin their journey back to Skyhold that afternoon, not particularly caring that they would only have four hours at best before they would be forced to stop and make camp for the night. But now that idea was out of the question as she read her Commander's news.

 _Inquisitor:_

 _Looks like Fairbanks was good on his word. The Freemen were helping the red templars smuggle red lyrium through the Dales. In exchange, they received gold and supplies which was to go towards the furtherance of their cause. Their hopes were fueled, then exploited. Capturing the red templars was a wise decision. As soon as they arrived I ordered my men to deny them the lyrium long enough to make them talk, and I'm happy to announce that it worked. We have the name of the red templar's lieutenant who was dealing with Maliphant and the Freemen: Carroll. He is expected to be at the Lion's Pavilion five days from now. Do what is necessary to stop him, but for my sake, make it quick. I knew him once, a long time ago._

 _We also received word that Sahrnia's quarry had been captured by Red Templars and some locals claim there had been missing people in the last two weeks. Still, we are waiting for confirmation on this, so I suggest you come back as soon as you've dealt with Carroll so we can plan the attack on the quarry._

 _Cullen._

The report was troubling and, at first, also discouraging, not only because of the news of yet another problem. After all, when the messenger had delivered Cullen's report, he had said the Commander himself had ordered it be given to her alone, as the information inside was for her eyes only. That had led her to believe the letter was everything _but_ a report, and that Cullen had used the excuse to make sure only she would read his response to her personal message. It wasn't until she read the second smaller paper attached to his report that her heart began to race frantically. He had sent a reply, and even if it was brief and had traveled hidden inside his military report, it was so sweet and intense, more straightforward than he had been the last time they were together before Sebastian visited Skyhold. She felt a terrible need to be close to him and confess all she had kept to herself when she'd sent the first correspondence.

For a while, Evelyn sat in her room at Argon's Lodge and read his letter until she felt she knew it by heart, and then read a while longer for good measure. She tried to imagine his voice whispering these things, even though the written version had an effect on her that she'd never experienced before.

Maker, how she wanted to go to Skyhold at once, but from his news, she knew that was impossible. Her memories and imagination would have to carry her for at least two more weeks until they could return to their fortress.

To be fair, Cullen had not been the only one who had unknowingly ruined their plans. A few hours ago, a soldier had arrived at Argon's Lodge to report that they had suffered problems at Hill Camp. Apparently, a rather massive and territorial bear had rampaged through the camp, trying to force them off its territory while wounding several and destroying supplies. So, instead of closing the rift that day, they had ridden back to Hill Camp to investigate.

Afterwards, Harding and her men had come to Argon's Lodge as well, and their first camp in the region was gone. That hadn't been the bear's fault, but the Inquisitor's. She had, as requested, gone to see why the bear was behaving so aggressively, but by the time she'd arrived at the cave she had decided to leave the animal alone after a short glance. She would not be responsible for orphaning three bear cubs. Her men grumbled at the solution she proposed, but they still obeyed and swore to never antagonize the bear again. The poor animal was only protecting her cubs and couldn't be blamed for acting on instinct. Here, the Inquisition was the intruder, and as such should try their best not to interfere with the region's natural order.

Now, with news of Lieutenant Carroll's arrival two days from now (going by the date on Cullen's letter) to negotiate smuggling through the Dales with the Freemen, whom Carroll still thought populated the region, and the Sahrnia Quarry, their journey back home would have to wait.

She knew Cullen's spirits would have sunk drastically at her decision to make a detour to Emprise du Lion. He had only asked her to take care of the red templar lieutenant because the man was expected to be at the Lion's Pavilion and it would be negligent to miss an opportunity to stop him when they could just wait a couple of days to catch him, but just as he had asked her that she stay for that, he had also implored her to return home as soon as possible so they could carefully plan the raid on Sahrnia's Quarry together. She understood where Cullen's request had come from, though. Entering a hideout without reinforcements was dangerous enough, but to do so after exploring the Emerald Graves and suffering casualties, such as Blackwall's ribs, was far too risky to expect Cullen not to despair when he realized the Inquisitor was not coming back to Skyhold directly. But pushing back the date of their return meant not only the opportunity for them to recover, but also for the red templars to find out about their now limited resources after the Inquisition had destroyed their red lyrium suppliers, and therefore prepare to attack. And that was something she was not willing to do.

Little did she know what she would truly face once she left the Emerald Graves after killing Carroll, and even though she still thought the decision to solve Sahrnia's quarry problem directly was wiser, that did not mean the sight had been easy to bear, nor particularly pleasant. She would never forget the desperation, the fatigue, and the suffering in the faces of those they rescued from their cages, but the ones that would forever imprint themselves in her mind were the ones she couldn't help, those tainted by red lyrium whom attacked without provocation or, what was worse, saw her and smiled for the first time in forever, as if her mere presence would give them peace despite the pain of the red crystals sprouting through their skin. Some had been able to talk, while others begged for the mercy of her daggers to end their suffering. Others still relayed a message to a loved one, wanting to let them know that person had loved them till the very last, or to crush their hearts in the hopes that they would hate them and be able to move on. That last request had been the hardest to accept. She had carried the letter the dying woman had given her, one that made her man despise and forget about her, not knowing he had been mercifully deceived to spare him from the pain of losing his lover to the lyrium. But worse still had been discovering that Mistress Poulin, whom convinced her that she was on the Inquisition's side on her previous visit to the frozen tundra and had been more than grateful for their support and provisions to restore Sahrnia and the health of its people, had instead sold her family's quarry to the red templars and provided them with people from the village to experiment on for monetary gain. Mistress Poulin had claimed the deal had been struck before the Inquisition had come to their aid, and as such, she had been unable to break the contract once they had provided them with the means to survive without also having to sacrifice their lives, that she had done it solely with the intention of saving her people, to feed the orphans and the elderly, preventing the templars from killing them all outright. The only problem was that the number of orphans had grown because of her, and that no matter how desperate and noble her intentions had supposedly been, the town was now destroyed, more souls saved from the cages than those who had actually survived Poulin's list of callous offerings.

What should have been a simple raid had turned into an emotionally trying experience that no one, especially the people of Sahrnia, needed after what they had already been through. And all _that_ without even taking into consideration how that much time exposed to the red lyrium with the mark answering to its power was affecting her health. In all honesty, by the time they came back to the village to take Poulin into custody as well as to escort the rescued villagers back to their dilapidated homes, she was thoroughly exhausted, struggling to even remain in her saddle without toppling over the side of her mount.

She never should have taken Michel with her, or at least she shouldn't have broken the main camp close to Sahrnia in favor of Suledin Keep, or not believe Poulin when she told the Inquisition soldiers in the keep that she would come to them for provisions instead of letting them travel to the village. If Evelyn had paid more attention to any of those details, she might have forced Poulin to confess to the deal with the red templars, and all of this could have been avoided. Instead, she had trusted the woman and had not kept a close eye on Sahrnia, and that had given Poulin the freedom to keep her disgusting plan in motion.

But banging her head against the wall wouldn't solve anything now, so with more exhaustion than she had experienced in months and a new scar creeping up her neck to her now marked right earlobe, she gathered her friends and told them they would finally begin their journey home that same day after she'd written out reports to send ahead by messenger. The look on their faces had said it all: They were drained and nursing all sorts of wounds ranging from minor to considerable, which only added to their burning need to get on the road leading back to Skyhold. She couldn't blame them, really. Between her own wounds and the colorful symptoms the quarry had left her with, including an intense headache, a metallic aftertaste in her mouth, and periodic stabs in the center of the mark where the anchor still complained from the excess of red lyrium in the air, she was more than willing to even forget about the reports and just ride nonstop until they hit Skyhold's drawbridge. But wishing did not equal doing, and she knew that sending a report ahead would eventually bear fruits, considering each day counted toward winning the battle against Samson. So, she took an hour to compile and copy all the information they had gathered, wrote a quick note to Cullen, and replenished the provisions in her backpack for the journey home.

When she called for the messenger, she had made another decision that might make them go slower, but would benefit them in the end.

A few minutes later, an elven woman sporting Dirthamen's vallaslin arrived. Evey found it fitting that the assigned messenger carried the mark of the elvhen god of secrets and knowledge, since she was about to task her with extremely delicate intel. When she stood before her, the elf made a small bow and stood silently, waiting for her orders.

-Are you a good rider, soldier?

-Yes, ma'am, best you'll find 'round here.- Then she apparently remembered the Inquisitor's reputation regarding that particular skill and cleared her throat, ashamed. - I mean… best besides _you_ , Your Worship.

Evey smiled and made a gesture with her hand, dismissing her worry.

-Have you slept well enough the last two nights?

The elf raised an eyebrow, confused.

-Ma'am?

-I'm asking because I don't want to push you past your limits. I need you to ride ahead of us with crucial information to deliver to Commander Cullen himself. You'll take my horse.- The elf was about to object to that when Evelyn raised a hand to stop her. -He's the best mount available and will withstand travelling with only six hours of sleep, which will place you at Skyhold's doors a day and a half from now, if you leave in an hour as we will, and take the main roads.

-My last guard shift was three nights ago, my lady, and when I was a _len_ I would stay awake for days watching the hallas of my clan. You needn't worry. The Commander will be reading this tomorrow by nightfall.

-The morning after will do.- The elf smiled at her leniency and bowed her head, while her horse kicked the floor in displeasure. She gave the messenger the reins and patted the horse's neck lovingly. -Take good care of him, and give him to Master Dennet when you arrive. We'll see you in Skyhold in three days.

The elf saluted, pounding a fist against her chest, and bowed once more.

-You can trust me, ma'am.

oOo

The journey to Skyhold was uneventful, but it lasted longer than she had anticipated. Three days turned into four, mainly because they traveled alongside their soldiers and Mistress Poulin, and it would have been five days were it not for the Inquisitor and her companions insisting that the others remained at the mountainside camp while they made their ascension to Skyhold during the night, arriving at the fortress well past midnight.

By that time, exhaustion had claimed Cullen and, against his wishes, he had fallen deeply asleep. So it was no surprise that he'd missed the telltale sounds of the small door at Skyhold's gate when it opened to let the Inquisitor and her group inside the fortress.

-Welcome back, your Worship. The messenger you sent told us you'd be here yesterday.

-Yes, we had a few delays on the road.- It was in that moment that the soldier realized he might have sounded like he was reproaching her for arriving late, and he began fidgeting uncomfortably. Evey noticed that and tried to sooth the man, changing the subject. -Is there something I should know?

The soldier raised his eyes from what must have been the most incredibly fascinating items one could find lying on the ground and looked at her almost in alarm, stuttering in his attempt to answer properly. And that's when Evelyn recognized him. That blushing, embarrassed face would forever be planted in her memory beside one of the most equally amusing and awkward moments of her life. What was his name again? Jim, was it? Cullen's complaints the day after their first kiss and Dorian's taunting both rushed back in an instant, confirming the man's identity while the poor soldier was still trying to form a coherent sentence.

-Umm, well, I... No, I don't think so, milady... Was there something in particular you expected to happen?- He looked at her almost pleadingly before then realizing how stupid his question had been just as she raised a single brow, staring at him and doing her best to hide her amusement. The poor man cleared his throat in a pathetic attempt to appear more solemn, but that only made him sound less sure of himself. -I mean, there haven't been any reports on shady activities here or in any of the Inquisition's strongholds, Your Worship.

The phrase sounded so rehearsed that she almost laughed aloud, but before she had the chance to do so, she caught the scent of a spicy perfume to her right, revealing Dorian leaning over her shoulder.

-Charming, isn't it?- her friend commented dryly while looking at Jim, who blushed again and kicked the floor, a moment that Dorian seized to whisper in her ear, -Definitely a keeper.

At that, she nearly sputtered with laughter, but contained it just in time.

Uncomfortable, Jim fidgeted once more before concocting the perfect excuse to escape the unfortunate situation.

-I'll tell the Commander you've arrived, my lady.

Evelyn stopped him before he could take a step away.

-That won't be necessary. He'll find out in the morning; let him rest.

Jim's eyes widened larger than the rift in the sky.

-But… Inquisitor, he told me to inform him the moment you arrived. I can't ignore an order.

The poor man sounded panicked, and Evey was tempted to remind him of what had happened the last time he took the words "without delay" to heart, but knowing Cullen, she was certain he wouldn't appreciate it if he was left uninformed. Still, calling him now when she needed a bath first seemed a shame, so she compromised:

-Call him in an hour and tell him I'll be in my office quarters awaiting his report on the letter I sent him.

oOo

Half an hour later, when she entered her quarters after a thorough cold shower in the public baths, she found the Commander pacing on her balcony, a pile of reports and the letter she'd sent a few days ago dropped haphazardly on the surface of her desk next to the tidy pile Josephine always left for her whenever she was away.

-Cullen! You're early!

He turned the second she had spoken, walking straight to her and taking her by the waist, kissing her as if his life depended on it.

Evelyn's heart began to race so fast that she could actually feel it drumming against her top, hammering against Cullen's chest. And then she realized what was affecting her that much: Just as the night they had come back together, Cullen wasn't wearing his armor. After being away from him for so long, the feeling of his body pressed against her and his warmth enveloping her made her knees weak.

Cullen apparently was feeling the same, as he held her tighter with each second that passed, one hand on her lower back to hold her on her feet, the other roaming from there to her shoulders over and again, as if he couldn't get enough of her presence and wanted to make sure she was truly in his arms at long last.

Finally, his right hand rested over her cheek and he drew back, fighting for breath as much as she was, pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes closed and smiling so radiantly that, were Evelyn's eyes not closed as well, the mere sight would have melted her.

-Oh, Maker, how I missed you,- he whispered without moving, his lips close enough to barely brush against her own.

Her smile grew wider, and she pressed herself closer to him, tucking her head beneath his chin, listening to his heart beating wildly against her ear.

-I missed you too.

She felt his face rest over her hair and a deep sigh brushed her locks.

-You shouldn't have gone to Emprise du Lion alone. I was so worried.

She raised her head and looked at him.

-I wasn't alone. I had my team with me, remember?

-I know, but still, you entered the quarry with them alone, and the things you wrote in your report... I was afraid you'd be hurt.

She placed both hands on either side of his face and held it steady to force him to look directly into her eyes.

- _Nothing_ happened. I'm fine...- She made a small grimace and then smiled again.- If a little tired.

-Would you like me to go?

-No, I told Jim to send you here... Though not for another half hour. He seems to be more afraid of you than he is of me.

Even if Jim wasn't exactly Cullen's favorite person since the man had interrupted their private moment together on the battlements, he smiled at her, amused at remembering how the poor soldier had come to his tower stuttering about the Inquisitor's arrival home, and that she had asked him to wait, but he didn't want the Commander to assume he would disregard orders so easily, so he decided to wait half an hour before telling Cullen so he wouldn't strictly be ignoring either superior. Jim had cracked after ten minutes, though, after imagining each and every grim possibility of how the Commander would take the news that, once again, Jim had stood between him and his goals.

-I think his muscles remembered the last time he crossed me better than his brain did. He was terrified I would order him to deliver messages to the mountainside camp by foot, again.- When she smiled, he seemed to be unable to refrain himself from leaning in once more and kissing her softly. Then he traced the line of her lower lip with his thumb before speaking again. -How are you feeling now? Your report was... unnerving.

His smile, just like hers, was lost below the weighted memories of what she had lived and he had read in the missives. The prisoners, the infected, the pleas for life, the ones begging for the release of death, and those worse off that were beyond any help she, or anyone else, could give. Evelyn had lessened the severity of it all in the letter she'd sent, but Cullen knew her well enough to read between the lines, and he confirmed his suspicions when her mood slipped before she could mask it again.

-I'm better now,- she smirked reassuringly, seeking the refuge of his chest again and trying to hide the distress in her eyes.

Cullen was having none of it, though.

-Evey, look at me.- When she did so begrudgingly, he traced her cheekbone with the side of his thumb, as if he were drying invisible tears. -You can tell me. I'm here for you.

Her pained expression resurged then, completely open and without restraint.

-I know, but that's not it. I've...- She lowered her eyes to the open collar of his shirt and played with the seam, where it crossed below the first open button. After only a second, Cullen saw the soft shade of pink crawl toward her face. -I've been waiting to be with you for more than a month. I don't want to talk about all that now that I'm finally here.

Her words had Cullen holding his breath without even realizing he was doing so, and when he released it, he did it so slowly that it sounded faltering, which was quite appropriate considering he felt his whole being falter at her confession. It was one thing to read about how she longed to be with him and how his memory haunted her days, but to hear it from her lips, to feel her stiffen in his arms with that shy fear she still felt whenever they unveiled another layer to the depth of their feelings for each other, was another beast entirely. Were he a brasher man, he would have caved to his desires and taken her in his arms to her bed that very instant. But he wanted to be the best man he could for her, and that meant taking things slowly and treating her as she deserved, as was expected with a lady. She was not a simple roll in the hay, or a sordid companion in the dark. Evey was more, far more, and she deserved better.

So instead of doing what he had been fantasizing for months now, he softly leaned back until she raised her face to him again.

-Are you hungry? Would you like me to get you something to eat?

-No, I'm fine.

-I brought our findings on the red templars. Would you like to go over that?- She looked down to his chest again, where somehow another button had loosened. -What do you want to do?

 _Maker, I can't possibly answer that honestly, not if I don't want him to run._ Sure, it was far too soon to carry out any of the alluring possibilities her mind was suggesting, but even if she didn't have any intention of putting those to practice, her body had other ideas entirely. His mere proximity was clouding her mind so thoroughly that when he asked, she could not for the life of her think of anything to say, and instead of something that would help prolong this moment of intimacy between them, she decided to take what she could and agree to his proposal. After all, it would give her not only more time by his side, but insight on whether her decision to send the letter ahead was a wise one, or if she had driven some poor soldier and her horse to near exhaustion without reason.

-Let's do that, yes.- And she took his hand, ushering him to the chaise longue by the fire, and laid on it, patting the space next to her for him to sit as well.

Cullen smiled at her apologetically and let go her hand to search for the reports he had brought to her room earlier while she bathed, and only then did he join her.

He sat with his back straight, leaving what Evelyn thought was too wide a gap between them while going through the notes and letters, searching for the more crucial ones. She waited patiently as he sorted the papers in the order he thought best and reclined in his seat to begin the debriefing, and only then did she cut his words by snuggling close to him, raising his right arm to place her head against his chest, letting his arm drape over her back once she was comfortably settled. Above her and out of view, Cullen smiled and sighed peacefully before he began again, the letters she'd sent opened like a fan before her eyes.

-I've been reading the correspondences you found in the quarry.- She felt him shake his head. -I still can't believe Samson is growing red lyrium from people for harvesting.- It didn't sound as if his incredulity was due to him being unable to fathom Samson capable of something so cruel; quite the contrary actually. His tone indicated that he thought the ex templar wouldn't bat an eye at the idea of growing red lyrium from strangers and fellow ex companions alike, but the sheer notion of anyone daring to do something so unnatural and despicable was what was tinging his voice with incredulity. He believed her story and the documents in his hands, but he simply found it outrageous that someone he once fought side by side with would be the one to perform such heinous actions.

She felt the weight of his past fall on his shoulders, making her want to throw the letters in the fire and shield him from those memories.

But since that was impossible, she did the next best thing: reassure him of their victory.

-Not anymore. Not in that mine.

Cullen nodded, but still found it hard to process this new revelation about Samson and the atrocities that came with it.

-I knew Samson has fallen, but _this?_ It's _monstrous_. We _have_ to put an end to him.- There was a finality, a strength that, in that moment when she could feel his voice reverberating in his chest, made her feel like they could do all that and more. Oblivious to her feelings, he searched for one letter in particular, and placed it in front of the others. -Look at these orders from the encampment. That armor must give Samson extraordinary power.- He glanced down at her, and she raised her eyes in time to see his face grow solemn and dark. -We might not be able to stop him.

Her answer came in a flash, her words reassuring and confident, even if slightly muffled from the way she was curled against his chest.

-Take away his armor and the lyrium, and Samson's just another man.

For a short time, he was quiet, pensive in thought. It wasn't that he didn't have faith in her. In fact, if anything gave him hope through all this madness, it was her presence and abilities, but he had also studied the documents in detail, and had consulted with mages and arcanists alike, even when that entailed listening to Dagna talk about red lyrium and how ingenious this armor sounded. The idea of facing a man with such power, of throwing her to the frontlines of a fight against a deranged red templar with red lyrium enhanced abilities, not only sent a chill through his spine, but made him question the merciful nature of the Maker if they didn't find a solution other than that.

-The latter is relatively simple, and in fact you made great progress in cutting his red lyrium supply, but the former... That's the one I'm worried about. Templars are trained _not_ to destroy expensive magical equipment.- There was another short pause in which he pondered whether to reveal all he had found out now or wait for the council debriefing tomorrow. It didn't last too long, though; perhaps the next day, she wouldn't be able to convincingly feign surprise in front of Leliana and Josephine, but they could just as well tell them he had come to her room precisely to debrief her as soon as she arrived. He was under no illusions that Leliana wasn't already aware through her network of his visit to her private quarters, but tomorrow at first light she would know for certain if she didn't know already.

-I took the liberty of consulting Dagna about his armor, and she sounded quite enthusiastic about the idea of experimenting with red lyrium.- Eveyn didn't comment, which was not too surprising. Dagna's histrionics were hardly breaking news. -At first, I feared what she might do with it, but I took the risk and provided her with everything she needed. She remained reclusive until this morning, just in time to prevent Harrit from going insane.- At this, he chuckled and the movement in his chest made her shift positions, her hand resting on his thigh now, caressing it softly. -Even though I don't recommend asking her about her findings unless you're willing to lose a day listening to her go on, she didn't come up with a concrete idea on how to destroy the armor. Still, I think I might've found something worth investigating.

-Which is?- she prompted him, and though her tone was definitely inquisitive and interested, in his excitement Cullen failed to notice the subtle undertones that hinted at her exhaustion.

-Among the letters you sent, we found orders. They mention Maddox, a name I did not expect to hear.

She stirred a little to better look at the parchment he had selected this time.

-Is this the same letter where Samson mentions something about "taking over as the vessel"? Whatever that means.- Without even waiting for his answer she rested her head on his shoulder, tucking it below his chin.

-That one, yes, and I was as lost as you are when I read about the "vessel". Perhaps it's a rank among Red Templars.- He felt the need to shrug his shoulders, but stopped himself at the last second so as not to bother her. -It _could_ be a title from Ancient Tevinter, or some other role Corypheus had planned for Samson, and Maddox is part of it.- He stopped then, imagining she would ask about the familiarity in his tone when he spoke about Maddox. When she didn't, he figured she didn't want to pry into his past in case it was something that would hurt him, so he clarified without being questioned. -You could say Maddox is, in a way, another voice from my past, although it's a little more complicated than that.- Once again, she didn't interrupt. -He was a mage in Kirkwall's Circle. Samson smuggled letters between him and his sweetheart. -Without realizing, he'd tightened his hold on her shoulder when mentioning Maddox's old lover, as if by telling this story, he feared they too would be separated by fate. -Eventually, Samson was caught, that's why he was cast out of the Order. Maddox was made tranquil under the official charge of "corrupting the moral integrity of a templar," something not too surprising considering Knight Commander Meredith wielded the brand for far lesser offenses.- His tone darkened when mentioning his former superior, and inwardly he thanked the Maker for guiding him to serve under a woman with a more refined moral compass than Meredith, in the end... Or in any other moment of her life, actually. -Shortly after the ritual, Maddox became a skilled craftsman of magical items. Samson must have... rescued him from the battle at the Gallows.- He paused and shook his head only slightly so as not to disturb her, since she seemed to have found the perfect position, not having moved in a while. -I thought Maddox had died in the fighting in the Gallows, or was eking out a living on the streets, a hard fate for a tranquil in Kirkwall. Samson must have found him, taken him in, though I doubt it was out of the goodness of his heart. More probably, he's shrewd enough to know an extraordinary resource.- He shuffled again through the letters only to realize the one he was searching for was the one he had glimpsed on the front of the pile right before he'd disrupted the order a second ago. -It seems Maddox built Samson's armor for him, and maintains it still. Tranquil in Kirkwall needed rare and expensive supplies for their enchantments, supplies we can trace. I sent our men to kick down some doors. Samson's armor might lead us right to his stronghold…

He stopped there, waiting for her opinion, but instead received nothing but silence and deep breathing close to his ear. Carefully, he leaned his head to the side and pushed her hair away from her face to get a better look at her, trying his best not to wake her if she, in fact, had fallen asleep as he suspected.

Sadly, but luckily considering a deep sleep in the wilds could put one's life in danger, she was a light sleeper and subtle movement, coupled with the fact that she had not had time to fall deeply into the Fade, made her stir the moment his finger grazed her cheek whilst pushing her hair back.

When she realized she had fallen asleep, she looked up at him apologetically, only to find him looking back at her, smiling sweetly.

-You didn't hear a single word of what I just said, did you?

-Yes! Yes, I did, you were talking about Dagna's progress with studying the red lyrium and about... umm...- When her eyes glanced off to the side as if searching for the answer, Cullen chuckled.

-I guess now I don't have to ask you to feign surprise tomorrow at the council,- he joked, and kissed her forehead softly.

If it was even possible, that only made her more confused.

-What? Why would you?

Cullen just shook his head in amusement and caressed her cheek, resting his hand on the back of her neck.

-Never mind.- And kissed her softly, barely brushing his lips on hers. -We'll speak tomorrow. I should let you sleep now,- he said before then taking her hand with the intention of removing it from his leg to get up and say his goodnight. He didn't get that far, though, since she gripped his hand while he was moving hers and held it tightly.

A questioning sound escaped his throat, but she didn't answer, instead looking at their joined hands, avoiding his eyes.

-Evey?

After another moment, she turned his hand in hers and entwined their fingers while answering.

-Would...- She sighed somewhat shakily, then she rephrased her question to a request. -Please, stay.

After her words echoed through the stone walls, she raised her eyes to his, fearing his silence meant she would find rejection in them, but what she found instead made her heart jump in her chest.

She hadn't measured her words, so naturally a myriad of thoughts had invaded Cullen's mind before he had time to process that she likely hadn't meant what his body was hoping she had. So when she raised her eyes, what she saw was that Cullen's were darker, his pupils expanding and almost engulfing the amber rings around them, where a small flash of primal hunger crossed his vision for the span of a second, her whole body suddenly answering to that sight.

Usually after these situations, they would both blush and begin to stutter incoherently, especially Cullen, but this time their roles seemed to reverse and she found herself lowering her gaze to avoid staring at him and, with any luck, calm her frantic heartbeat enough to stop the inevitable stammering that triggered when she tried to explain further under Cullen's attentive glance, which was shining with a heady mixture of good humor and comprehension tinged with lingering desire.

-I mean... I... would you...- She sighed and looked up, finding him smiling sweetly and waiting patiently. -Would you stay a while longer with me?

Her eyes once again began to wander, so he redirected them by holding her chin in his hand.

-What would you have me do for you?- he asked when she looked at him, his voice sounding impossibly seductive to her ears.

 _Surely_ he had done that on purpose. There was no _way_ he didn't know just what his voice was doing to her, nor the ideas that very question in this exact context presented in her mind, filling her thoughts with sordid scenarios of a thousand ways to spend the night together, none of which involved his innocent suggestion of simply letting her sleep.

-Just...- She swallowed, banishing her lascivious thoughts away. -Keep talking.- Then she remembered he had apparently been doing that the entire time, and she rushed to clarify.- But maybe not about the mission?- He smiled in understanding. -Tell me what happened while I was away.

He nodded, and she immediately went back to snuggling in his arms as he began again, running his hand over her back slowly.

He talked about how Fenris had assisted with the troupes' training, even managing to make Hawke leave his usual table at Herald's Rest in favor of joining and showing the men the best techniques to combine the brute force of a warrior with the cunning attacks of a mage, thereby helping to close the lingering distances between their battle mages and ex templars, uniting their army further. He then changed the topic to more mundane subjects, like Josephine wanting to know what day he was born, Cole's enigmatic and supportive weekly messages, and even how Sera had somehow stuffed an entire colonized beehive inside his training dummy, two days ago. In other circumstances, Evelyn would have inquired more about that last item, curious as to _how_ Sera had managed to get away with it unscathed and without stings, and whether he'd been hurt in the process. It was one thing to play innocent pranks on people, and she indulged in the elf's antics so long as no one was hurt, but if that line had been crossed, the Inquisitor was willing to put a stop to her games, but exhaustion won the battle tonight, and she felt herself slipping away from the waking world and into the Fade just as Cullen began to relate the event.

Sometime later, when she was so far gone that she wouldn't have been able to honestly say how much time had passed since she closed her eyes, she felt her body carried away from the chaise and lowered to her soft mattress, her boots discarded on the floor a second later and a light summer coverlet dropping over her shortly after.

But without a doubt, the best part of everything she'd felt while dancing on the edge of consciousness was Cullen's soft lips kissing hers ever so gently, right before he whispered goodnight and left her to dream of strong arms, deep voice, and sweet caresses…


	49. Chapter 49

Chapter 49: Between Duty and Love

Her hand dropped to the empty space beside her on the bed, jerking her awake. Evelyn had been drawn to Cullen's signature scent, which she slowly realized was coming from her own clothes. A flood of memories returned of the night before when, for the first time, she and Cullen had simply enjoyed each other's company as a couple, leaving the Inquisition and its heavy responsibilities behind, even though it had begun by mixing their duties as Inquisitor and Commander with the joy of being together again after a long stint apart. The only thing she regretted now was that she had fallen asleep. Not because she did so in Cullen's arms; that was the only part she didn't mind, considering she had fantasized for months now how it would feel to fall into the Fade to the sound his voice and caresses softly guiding her into a night of nothing but wonderful dreams of a simpler life. No, what she regretted was the fact that on the only occasion they had taken for themselves, exhaustion had won out and she had completely wasted an intimate, sweet moment in favor of rest.

Still, at least she was back home, and even if she didn't know how long that would last, any free time left she had decided to set aside for him alone. The tricky part was figuring out how many hours she would be able to shave off her responsibilities. Coming back to Skyhold was always simultaneously a relief and a burden. On the one hand, she was safe at home, and she could recoup from whatever dangers they had faced outside the stone walls, but on the other, any minute of relaxation was one less she would have later when attending to the decisions her advisors anxiously awaited from her. Indeed, without Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen, the burdens of being the Inquisitor would have crushed her a long time ago, but no matter how they tried to ease that load, there were just some things that needed her personal attention, and those things usually piled up while she was out on a mission.

With that in mind, she sat up on the bed and looked to her desk. Sure enough there they were, three small mountains of requests, reports, and letters, one from each of her advisors, bursting her fantasy bubble and bringing her back to reality.

Letting out a deep sigh, Evelyn rose and stretched until she felt all her muscles relax. The War Council would convene mid morning, and she should use the remaining time to dive headfirst into all the details Cullen had tried to relay last night, which she had so thoroughly missed while she was dreaming in the Fade. Still, she wouldn't touch a single report before breakfast, as she doubted her growling stomach would ever allow her to do otherwise, so she quickly changed into her standard attire, deciding to go downstairs and carry some breakfast back up to eat while reading over everything.

To do that, though, she'd need to make room for her tray somewhere on her desk. So, she shuffled over to it to rearrange the stacks out of the way. Just as she set her hands beneath the first one, though, she found a simple note waiting for her in the middle of her desk. The second her eyes recognized the handwriting, her face lit up.

 _Morning, my sweet. I hope you slept well. I'll see you at breakfast._

Holding the parchment, she took two steps toward the stairs before realizing she couldn't go to the main hall with his note still in hand. It was one thing to imagine people speculating about something going on between them, and another entirely to openly offer them proof, at least without talking to him first... Not that she was going to ask him about it, though. It was too soon for anything like that, not to mention it might put a label to whatever they were building together.

She doubled back to put the note in one of her personal, lockable drawers, and clumsily knocked her refuse bin over, spilling its contents on the floor as one small ball of parchment rolled to her feet. Glancing down, she spotted at least five more scattered around, three still resting inside the bin. That by itself was strange, considering she always returned to find her quarters completely clean and her bin emptied, but it was the oddity of the small note in her hand that made her bend down to pick up one of the crumpled papers, wondering what it could possibly be.

Sure enough, there it was again: Cullen's handwriting, drafting a series of versions of the same note he'd left for her. They all said practically identical things, but the main differences were in the letterhead, where he had tested out varying endearments to begin his message. He had tried to call her "dearest", "lovely" and "my beautiful", every one of them followed by her name. Each attempt gave her heart a small flutter from both the sweetness of the gesture itself and that he was clearly unsure how to capture his true feelings on paper, obviously conflicted over what to call her just as Evelyn still struggled with the subtle nuances of a newly blossoming relationship. Cullen was apparently just as confused and anxious as she was, and in a way, the revelation soothed her. He cared, much the same way she did, yet he was clearly willing to slow their relationship down to a more manageable pace for her, rather than push forward and force her to keep up with him.

That silent, unintentional demonstration made her amend her original plan and, smiling warmly, she left her room with his note resting secretly in her pocket.

oOo

Cullen had woken up less than an hour ago, and even though the sun barely crested over the top of the mountain, he was already deep in discussion with his personal messenger.

-A list from Lady Cassandra, Commander,- the woman had said while entering his office, pulling him out of his reverie. Ever since he'd opened his eyes, he had been thinking of Evey, and the sudden entrance of his courier had quickly forced him to banish the Inquisitor from his thoughts, relegating her to the back of his mind while he handled whatever his messenger had brought him. In consequence, the sigh had been unavoidable.

-What is it this time?

The messenger shuffled her weight from one foot to the other.

-I don't know. She sealed it in an envelope and glared...- She looked at him almost as if embarrassed and gave him the message, adding, -I didn't dare open it.

-It's all right, I'll...

The opening of the south door interrupted him, and the moment he raised his eyes, Cullen lost all words completely. There she stood, smiling at him as sweetly as she had the night before while sleeping, when he had kissed her goodnight. Then another memory assaulted him, and he felt a rising heat quickly stain his cheeks red.

Last night, he had returned to his room with the feel of her body still pressed against his side, silently thanking the Maker that he'd been asleep when she returned and had not spared time to dress in full armor after Jim informed him she was, at last, back in Skyhold. Even after he'd laid himself down to sleep, her perfume had lingered around him, though he wasn't exactly sure where it came from, considering he slept in the nude. Perhaps it was in his hair, or maybe he had managed to flood his body with all sensations related to her, just as his heart clung to her memory. When he fell asleep, he could still see her snuggled against his side in his mind's eye, and that image lingered until he woke up, replaying the moment he opened his eyes. Greeting the day with her in mind was nice, but he wished it wasn't merely memory and that he was still physically at her side. It didn't take long to realize his body had awakened some time before him, likely spurred on by memories tinging his fantasies, featuring her in all her loveliness. Thinking of her while taking care of it made him feel somewhat guilty, but also lit his body aflame, tiny pinpricks tingling from head to toe and making him tremble at the idea of his fantasies coming true one day.

Now his mind had brought that memory back to the forefront at the worst possible moment, when she was standing before him with her lovely smile and those warm eyes.

-Ev…Inquisitor,- he stumbled over his words while rising from the chair, correcting himself at the last second to avoid sound too casual in the presence of his messenger. -What can I do for you?

Evey looked at his messenger and seemed taken aback by her presence, but recovered from the surprise admirably, acting like the professional she was.

-I thought we could discuss the reports on the Red Templars over breakfast. It'll help me decide on a course of action before the War Council.

Only then did he notice the tray she was carrying and, as his blush deepened thinking she had come to share breakfast with him, he made his way to her and relieved it from her, placing it on his desk before turning to his messenger.

-Tell Cassandra I'll check her list and talk to her after the Council.- The woman nodded but hesitated on whether that was a dismissal, so Cullen rushed to add, -That will be all.

After that, the woman didn't waiver. She bowed slightly to the Commander and turned to Evey, addressing her with a brief "Inquisitor" before making herself scarce.

Waiting until they were finally alone, both paused until the messenger's steps faded in the distance, and after they were assured of their privacy, they slowly stepped close to one another, Cullen's hands resting on her hips while her own held him by his forearms.

-Did you sleep well?- he asked, tucking back the rebel strand of hair that always found a way to escape her bun.

-Yes.- She hesitated for a second, and he could see her blush climbing up her neck to her face. -Thank you for tucking me in.

Her shyness always disarmed him, and without being able to wait any longer, nor wanting to, he rested his hand on the back of her neck and kissed her. A small voice inside questioned the wisdom of doing so in the middle of his office, which was typically a busy hub for people passing through to either speak to him or use it as a bypass on their way to some other area of the fortress. Those thoughts were lost the moment her soft lips parted, though, allowing him the possibility of deepening the kiss.

It lasted longer than what had been anticipated, but neither could gather the will to pull away, even if each moment spent this way increased their chances of being caught. When they finally retreated, she looked at him and smiled, slightly out of breath.

-Are you hungry? I brought a little of everything. I also have coffee.

Cullen chuckled that she had remembered he favored coffee over tea in the morning. He wouldn't have thought she would brush up on such minor details about his preferences.

-Coffee would be nice.

He grabbed up an extra chair and placed it beside his at the desk. Though he was more eager to share his own, letting her sit in the space between his spread legs while resting against his chest (or over him), he knew the very idea was absurd now. Much of their relationship was still a secret, and he didn't want to force her into anything uncomfortable. Maker, he'd been too close to losing her already to risk chasing her off again.

What would have felt oppressively silent in other circumstances actually relaxed Evelyn, allowing her to enjoy the simplicity of everydayness with him at her side, and she sat in contentment as she began preparing their meal. Since they would no doubt be working, she had chosen a more reserved breakfast, consisting mostly of toast, butter, cheese, fruit, juice, and coffee. She had also thrown in a couple of sausages, but she doubted they would have time to get to them once buried up to their necks in reports and strategies.

As he silently gathered all the papers pertaining to the investigation on Samson, she stirred the coffee and began to butter toast, laying each one on a small plate between their mugs. But then Cullen stopped in his search to look at her, noticing suddenly that she was humming softly to herself as she worked. The picture before him was so domestic that he couldn't help but feel touched by it. How many times had he seen his own parents share a similar moment of his mother preparing a meal while his father checked over a list of the farm's inventory? Or later on, when father tried his best not to burn their food while his mother fed Branson? And then, when breakfast was ready, father would set the table, stopping only to plant a kiss on mother's head, just like he kissed Evey every time an opportunity presented itself.

He blinked a few times in quick succession to dispel those memories from his mind before Evelyn could catch him daydreaming. Not imagining a life with her at his side became harder with each passing day, but considering the situation they were immersed in, he thought it better to avoid feeding that fantasy. Cullen wasn't even sure what she had in mind for for them, or if she even planned on being together after all this madness was behind them. He hoped he wasn't alone in his thoughts, though. In fact, he prayed with all his heart that she felt much the same. In the time that he had gotten to know her, Evey had become such an integral part of him that even having to consider parting ways after Corypheus was defeated was like staring into an abyss that threatened to swallow him whole, this time without hope of a triumphant return.

With that thought, he swallowed around a lump in his dry throat, turning in time to watch her raise her eyes from her coffee cup, still stirring the spoon with which she had added her usual two small scoops of sugar.

-You take it black, right?- She seemed confused that he had been staring at her while she added the sugar, almost as if he was waiting for his turn, and the whole notion of her wondering about that when he had in fact been thinking of something more ideal made him chuckle.

-Yes, cheers.- He claimed one of the buttered toasts and began shuffling through his missives, the bread sticking out of his mouth between his teeth. When he found the one he was looking for, he bit down and made quick work of the toast before he opened the discussion.

-Here's the last letter you sent me; the one mentioning what you found in the quarry. After what Dagna uncovered, I sent my men to investigate requisitions of specific supplies Maddox needed when he was in Kirkwall's Circle. I still haven't heard from them, but I expect it will lead us to Samson's hideout.

She looked confused again, but at the same time she seemed unsure to question him about it, likely remembering vaguely that he had explained this the night before yet unable to recall much of anything. Between sips of coffee and bites of toast, he quickly debriefed her once again about Maddox's connection with Samson, Kirkwall, and even himself, all while she ate in silence, determined this time to pay attention to his words. When he at last finished, she looked at him uncomfortably.

-I get the feeling you've said this before, haven't you?- He just smiled and nodded, and she rubbed her left palm over her face. -I'm sorry, that was extremely unprofessional on my part. I tried to stay awake, I swear.- Then she seemed to realize something and rushed to clarify. -It wasn't you, I mean...- He huffed at that. -Forgive me.

Cullen knew he should remain professional, but he couldn't resist leaning over her to kiss her forehead.

-I know; don't worry about that.

She was still disappointed, but didn't want to let the moment pass without asking him about something that had been troubling her. And she hoped it wouldn't hurt too much to bring it up.

-How are you coping? It can't be easy to discover that people you once knew are involved in this.

-You're right, it's not,- he grimaced. -A few months ago, I asked Leliana to search for Carroll and other templars I remembered from my time in Ferelden. She couldn't find him, and now I know why. Maddox never came to mind; I was convinced he had perished during Kirkwall's mage uprising, but I sometimes wonder if I could've done more for them.

The moment his eyes dropped to the letter in his hand and she saw the weight pressing down on his shoulders as Cullen blamed himself for his former companions' fate, she mentally kicked herself from bringing it up. Talking about Samson was inevitable, but even if that was also a name from his past, he seemed to be almost immune to him. That is, beyond the atrocities the man was committing. Maddox was somehow different, and she understood why. Tranquils were disturbing people, their eyes empty and voices bottomless pits of nothingness, even if they were incredibly intelligent and dedicated to their chosen specialties without the distractions that characterized everyday people. Stripped of everything that made a person... well, a person... the tranquil were invaluable assets to the Templar Order, making them compliable and manageable for the sake of taking advantage of their abilities without the ever-present risk of demon possession that accompanied working with mages.

It was that last trait that made them disturbingly unnerving to Evelyn, their hollow voices only deepening the feeling of being in the presence of an empty vessel that moved by inertia instead of the will to live and survive. The Chantry considered the ritual an act of mercy, since those mages who would otherwise be paralyzed with fear by the constant threat of possession were free of that, and were able to live their lives driven only by logic and free will. Still, she thought there was little to no free will when it came to being a Tranquil. True, they weren't more susceptible to suggestion than they were previously, and even though they rarely opposed authority due to their complete lack of desire to object, they were not easily manipulated. But the idea of a tranquil living independently outside the Circles or even the Inquisition, which could shield them from a cutthroat and treacherous world, sent shivers down her spine. Samson had apparently exploited Maddox's sense of loyalty from their shared past, and at the same time had offered the tranquil the chance to feel useful again instead of losing himself to the mage/templar confrontation.

Maddox's fate and Samson's manipulation was something she couldn't ease in Cullen's mind, but she could at least reassure him of Carroll's end.

-There's nothing you could have done. Life wasn't easy for you, either. You made your choice just as they made theirs.- She paused, not sure if she should ask the question on her mind. -Did Carroll have a family?

Cullen shook his head.

-He only had his parents, but they were killed in the Blight.

-I'm sorry.- Then she placed her right hand over his left, which rested on the desk. -Cullen, I can't do anything about that, but I can say this much: Carroll's death was as quick and painless as I could manage in the middle of the fight.- She second guessed telling him the rest, fearing it would do more harm than good, but then decided he needed to know. -We couldn't bury him because the red lyrium in his body would have taken the land from within, but Dorian cremated him while Solas casted a barrier around him to prevent lyrium fumes from reaching anyone nearby. I asked the quarrymen to make a gravestone with his name and templar rank to be placed where he died. I know it's not much but...- She stopped herself when she felt his hand squeeze her own, raising her eyes to meet his.

-It's more than I could have hoped, and more than he probably deserved after joining the Red Templars but...- He lifted her hand and kissed it, resting it against his cheek afterwards. -After I sent you that letter, I realized I didn't care about him. I only cared about you... And I sent you to fight him, knowing he would have reinforcements, and then you went on to Sahrnia...

-Shh, don't think that.- She kissed his hand, which was still holding hers close to his face.

-I always do, every single day, for nearly as long as we've known each other. At first, I worried only because you carry the mark, but then...- His eyes reflected a determination that went straight to her heart. -I've almost lost you more times than I want to consider, either to death or to… another.

-But I'm here now. You haven't lost me.- He caressed her hand with his lips again, leaning toward her so their hands were the only barrier keeping them apart.

His words repeated in her mind, and she realized she still hadn't asked him something she had been curious about for well over a month. Something that she hoped would lighten the mood again.

-That night you came to my room asking about Sebastian…- Cullen straightened in an instant, lowering their hands to hang slack in the space between their chairs. -How did you know I'd turned him down?

Cullen's smile transformed oddly, and he disentangled their fingers to search for something in the bottom drawer of his desk, one that locked with a key just like hers, which he fished from one of the inside breast pockets of his cloak. He pulled out and gave her a small parchment written with a flourishing handwriting that rang a bell for her. Reading it over, she then raised her eyes to him, where he was still smiling, although more sweetly now.

-Sebastian _sent_ you this?

-I imagine he did. Honestly, I never asked. That didn't much matter to me.

She was about to answer when there was a knock on the door, followed by Cullen's messenger reentering the office.

-Ser, My lady, I have a message from Sister Leliana.- Cullen nodded to the messenger without releasing her hand below the table. -She asks if you'd be willing to move the meeting forward to hold in a half hour, instead. She said she's just received a raven bringing news for you.

The messenger took two steps toward the desk and Cullen immediately let go of her hand, though the feeling of his touch lingered.

-Inquisitor?- he wondered, looking back at her. -What do you think?- His tone was once again authoritative, all softness and sweetness lost behind the Commander facade.

-Yes, I believe that's doable, assuming there's nothing else you need to inform me of.- To hide any gestures that might betray them, she sipped her coffee.

-I believe I've covered what's most critical.- Then he seemed to realize that what he'd said had been as good as a dismissal and added, -But I'd appreciate it if you could spare a few more minutes with me. We still need to discuss what to do with the red templars we've imprisoned.

The moment he said that he wanted to kick himself. Of all the excuses he could come up with, he _had_ to mention the one he knew she would actually want to discuss. Now, though, he couldn't walk his comment back, so as she grabbed another piece of toast and added a slice of cheese to it, he turned to the messenger.

-Tell Sister Nightingale we'll convene in half an hour.

-Ser,- answered the saluting woman before exiting the office, leaving Cullen to discuss with Evelyn what promised to be a grim subject.

So much for a calm and intimate breakfast together.

oOo

Fifteen minutes later, Evelyn left Cullen's office through the south door, only to face an amused Dorian leaning against the walkway connecting the ramparts with the rotunda. And what a look he had on his face. The Tevinter looked like the cat who got into the cream, grinning in such a way that he only need lick his lips to make the metaphor even more fitting.

To be honest, she breathed deeply when she saw him, his expression a clear indicator of some devious plan or upcoming teasing. A few minutes ago, she and Cullen had determined that the four red templars they had captured, whom were only in the early stages of their red lyrium addiction and showed little sign of external or internal red lyrium growth according to the mages and physicians in Skyhold, would remain in confinement and would be forced into detoxification in the hopes of saving them from the cruel claws of the substance along with Corypheus' ferrous control. They would likely require blue lyrium for the rest of their lives, and would always carry the consequences of that exposure, even if they by some miracle managed to survive the process, they would at least be free to live their lives as they wanted. Even if they might never be completely free, at least until Corypheus was defeated, considering they couldn't risk the templars returning to the darkspawn magister and informing him of the Inquisition's movements, and most likely would forever depend on the blue form of the substance, since their bodies were already too dependent to function without it, and removing it all out would only mean a painful and certain death, at least they would have something besides waiting for the crystals to burrow their way through their skin until there was nothing left but a husk harboring red lyrium. He had also told her that, despite what he had written in his letter, he had denied them red lyrium, but had still given them half a dose of the blue form on the third day after they began to make sense through their fever induced delirium. The poor sods didn't even feel the difference, but their fevers had broken after a couple of hours, which had given Cullen time to question them further about what they had said amidst their suffering. The Commander had then realized that even if they survived their exposure to red lyrium, they would never know what it is to be normal again.

The decision had been tough. What they were going to make these people go through was nothing short of torturous, and for a time she and Cullen considered if it wouldn't be merciful to execute them. In the end, it had been Cullen who had suggested they try. Perhaps he was merely clinging to the hope that at least one of the deranged ex templars could be saved, and therefore he himself could be forgiven for what he was imposing on himself for not finding Carroll in time to save him. But no matter the cause, she was willing to support him. If they could save at least one man, it will all have been worth it. She just wished she knew if they were doing the right thing by trying.

-So, I heard our dear Commander left your quarters in the middle of the night.

With that simple tease, Dorian had managed to lift her spirits beyond what he could ever understand, even if his words aimed to provoke a much different and more embarrassing reaction from her.

-He came to discuss the situation in Sahrnia and the Emerald Graves,- she explained, trying to sound as neutral as possible.

By then she had reached her friend's side, and he promptly linked her arms with his and leaned close to her ear.

-Oh, absolutely! After all, it's not as though we'd already cleared the mines and bravely rescued the prisoners...- He brought a hand to his chin, tapping his forefinger against his lip as if he were thinking. -Ah, but wait! We did. Maybe the Commander missed that report... or missed something else.- He suggestively raised and lowered his eyebrows repeatedly.

-Five weeks ago, it was Sebastian, and now it's Cullen?- Her own eyebrow raised, only to immediately lower as she sighed, -I swear my life is more exciting in your head.

-Need I remind you, Evey, I _was_ right about the Prince,- Dorian added with a little too much satisfaction, which prompted Evey to subconsciously aim to shoot down his arrogance.

-He wasn't exactly being subtle about it, Dorian.

He then leaned against her, nudging her playfully.

-You could have been a _princess_.- As they entered the rotunda, he lowered his voice, though Solas was nowhere to be found, probably searching for a book upstairs. -Why you refused him is beyond me. I even heard he knelt and pledged his loyalty to you, as a man _and_ as a Prince.- Somehow Dorian's voice sounded dreamy as he said the last part.

Evelyn just shook her head and looked at Dorian like she would a gullible child.

-You need to stop reading Cassandra's books.

-You're mistaken, my fearless leader. If that had come from one of the Seeker's chosen literature pieces, the Prince would have been doing something _far_ more entertaining while on his knees,- he said, running his fingers over her back to tickle her. Then, as was customary for him, he leaned on her shoulder to whisper in a hushed tone,- and yours would be trembling with desire.

Evelyn rolled her eyes, and looked at her friend half seriously.

-Why do you always have to picture me in those situations?

-It's not _you_ whom I picture, but rather the men whom have a distinct taste for eating you up with their eyes.- Once again, Evelyn's response was to roll her eyes, making sure he was watching her. -Which reminds me: When are you going to tell Josephine you said no?- he added, opening the main hall door for her, once again lowering his voice to avoid the nobles (or Josephine herself) hearing.

-And how are you so sure I said no?

-Well..- he raised one finger in the air from the hand that was not holding her arm, -for one, Cullen is smiling again.

- _Pfft_.- To this sound he wrinkled his nose in a perfect imitation of how Josephine would have reacted were she present to hear her emote such an unladylike noise. -That's your source?

-Of course not,- he said as if her idea was ludicrous. -I also interrogated you while you slept.- And there it was again, that wolfish smile.

That made her panic, surprising her so much that each feeling reflected in her face perfectly. In fact, a group of nobles around her looked in her direction questioningly when they saw her face.

 _Oh Maker, what if I said something about Cullen? No, it can't be, I've never talked in my sleep before... Have I?_

The reality was that she couldn't be sure. The only time in her life when she shared a room was when she was living in the Chantry, and her roommate used to sleep like a log anyway, so it was no surprise she never commented on anything. As for her former lover... Well, she never got to spend more than one night with him anyway, with a Revered Mother breathing down her neck and lecturing her daily about how a proper lady of her status should behave while being courted.

For Dorian, though, her reaction was more than enough.

-And _now_ I know. Thank you for the confirmation, by the way...- She might've throttled him for his deceit if she didn't have to admit it was a good strategy on his part. Still, that didn't mean she would repress the murderous look she threw him, even when it was as useless as blowing a kiss in his direction, considering the dashing smile that she received in response.

After that, Dorian waited a handful of seconds to attack again.

\- Sooooo, the Commander leaving your quarters?

Her repertoire of gestures to answer him was running low on originality, for she once again rolled her eyes.

-We were _working_.

-Interesting. That's not what we call it in Tevinter.- To that, she elbowed him in the ribs. -Ouch! Careful, I bruise easily!

-You don't,- she countered him.

-Still, it would be a shame to mark my impeccable skin, don't you think?- To accentuate his point, he raised his chin as if showing off his perfect complexion. Then he took another strategic pause, calculated purposely to allow her to relax enough to make her glare when he brought the subject back up again. -Do you want to know what else was perfect? Cullen's smile last night.

She turned her face to him, donning her best expression of incredulity.

-Am I supposed to believe you were _actually_ _present_ to see him leave?

-So, he _did_ leave your room in the middle of the night!

 _Damn him and his traps!_

Sometimes she thought Dorian only laughed that hard when he was teasing her. It was untrue, of course, but in this situation, it felt like a complete and absolute certainty.

-Don't worry, you wouldn't have been able to deny it either,- he shrugged, dismissing her glare with a wave of his free hand. -I saw him with my own beautiful eyes. I was on my way back to my quarters when I happened to see him from the upper floor.

-And what were _you_ doing up at that hour?- she pressed, facing him and tapping his chest with a finger.

They had finally arrived at the door of her quarters, but instead of entering, they lingered there for a while, not bothered if the nobles talked about them yet again. That rumor was growing old, anyway.

-Jealous, my dear?- He raised an eyebrow and smiled devilishly. -Would you believe me if I said I was coming back from a lady's room?- Then his face morphed to one of utter disappointment. -No, then? Well, I confess, I went to the library to procure some light reading, something that would induce tiredness that my cold bath robbed from me.

-The Malefica Imperium?- The tease was nothing short of lame, but she needed to feel she had fought back a little, even if Dorian was winning this confrontation by a long shot.

The mage wrinkled his nose again as if he could smell something awful.

-Don't even get me started on that. Did I mention you can find ten volumes dedicated to Divine Galathea's bowel movements, but _none_ on early Tevinter History?

Evelyn sighed dramatically.

-Yes, and in more colorful words than that...- Then his words actually hit the target. -Wait, are you telling me you walked into Vivienne's room in the middle of the night and she didn't rally the nobles against you first thing this morning?

-Oh, you didn't know? She's moved! Remember how Josephine prepared that special room for the Prince? The one over the gardens?- He then looked up in exasperation. -Well, she took it for herself, and rumor has it she's been driving _your_ Commander crazy with requests ever since. Apparently, she wants to use one of the troupes posted in Orlais to deliver her a new bed. Quite the scandal!- At the prospect of stopping Vivienne's demands and ending up wasting two hours of her life hearing another variation of the lessons of court life she'd had to withstand while training for Halamshiral, she grunted and hid her face in Dorian's shoulder, to which he softly began to pat her head. -There, there. If it makes you feel any better, he's handling her marvelously thus far. And speaking of the devil,- he added taking her by the arms and forcing her to look at him, -I believe you have time left before the War Council, is that right?

-Barely ten minutes,- she leered.

-More than enough to fill me in on the juicy details of your midnight tryst,- he smiled, opening her door and softly pushing her inside to the scandal of the nobles that saw it.

oOo

Dorian had tried to take only ten minutes of her time, but according to him, her dreadful excuses to disguise reality had turned into fifteen minutes instead, and she had no one to blame but herself. After all, he said, if she would have just admitted her liaison with the Commander in the first place, their talk would have only lasted what it took her to tell him all about it.

In consequence, by the time she entered the War Room, all her advisors were already waiting for her.

Cullen's eyes lit when he saw her.

-Inquisitor! We were...- And then he immediately lowered his eyes to the floor when he noticed he had reacted to her arrival with too much excitement.

-Eagerly awaiting your presence...- finished Leliana for him, her suggestive tone teasing Cullen and his eagerness. -Some of us more than others,- she added after glancing his way, smiling as devilishly as Dorian had a few minutes ago.

Cullen forced himself to avoid fidgeting and tried his best to feign innocence.

-I wasn't... I mean I was...- He cleared his throat, knowing she had defeated him. -We have work to do.

-Of _course_ ,- was Leliana's final jab, reacting as if nothing had happened, but still donning a smile.

Evey couldn't help it and, even after avoiding Nightingale's eyes for fear of blushing, she smiled sweetly at Cullen's nervousness. Still, she didn't let the humiliation he was feeling linger at all, instead addressing the main issue immediately.

-So, Leliana, you asked this meeting to be brought forward because you have news?

-Yes, and may I say I'm pleased you could assist, even if the messenger I sent for you couldn't find you.

 _As if they didn't tell you I was with Cullen,_ Evelyn thought while staring at Leliana.

Her spymaster's face of innocence was practiced, she had to give her that, but she still couldn't fool Evelyn, who looked at her significantly and barely nodded her head to urge the Spymaster to continue. Leliana then unfolded a raven's message and handed it to Cullen, whom read it while she debriefed the others.

-We received this message at first light. My spies spotted Samson's remaining red templars escorting a supply caravan to a hidden location in the wilderness.

-I know this place,- Cullen interrupted, his voice betraying his enthusiasm. -When we first found out about the Venatori, I studied their beliefs to see if that could help predict their movements. Then I came up with certain locations that seemed important, but when I sent a detachment to investigate, it was abandoned at the time. It's an old temple called the Shrine of Dumat. -He placed one of his markers over the map, indicating her next destination. Then he raised his eyes and looked at her. -I can prepare a squadron of soldiers to be ready for travel in less than an hour, Inquisitor.

-There's no rush, Cullen. I'm still waiting for confirmation,- intervened Leliana. -It should arrive before the hour is over, though.

-What more confirmation do we need? It's clear to me your spies saw the caravan being filled with lyrium, dwarven tools, and the specific reagents Dagna mentioned Maddox would need.

-I understand, but we must plan this calmly.- Both then looked back at Evelyn while Josephine scribbled everything on her notepad.

For a few seconds, only silence filled the War Room, both the Spymaster and the Commander waiting to see who she favored in their disagreement.

-It's still early… Leliana is only asking for an hour, and we can discuss other matters at hand while we wait for confirmation. Even if it takes us twice as long as what we expect, you can still select the soldiers you'd like in time to be ready to depart today.

Cullen's spirits dropped at her words, and for the rest of the meeting he fidgeted in place as if he was waiting to charge out the door the moment she adjourned their session, more often than not letting out a huff when Josephine brought up subjects that, in his opinion, were inconsequential in comparison. It was partially true, of course. Of all the things discussed in the forty minutes that followed, nothing was as important as the finding of Samson's hideout, but they were still things that needed to be reviewed to keep the Inquisition functioning effectively.

When one of Leliana's agents finally entered the War Room, Cullen was pacing at the back of the room, completely unnerved by Josephine's unending debriefing about Lord Maurel's reply concerning his recovered villa in the Emerald Graves, followed by an exasperatingly long discussion about what to do with the valuables Fairbanks' men had retrieved from the Freemen's abandoned camps. Cullen had only chimed in to request those ill gotten gains were used to reinforce Fairbank's new encampment and turn it into a base of operations to share with the Inquisition soldiers, and had fortunately won Evelyn's attention over Leliana's suggestion for it to be used as bait to their advantage and Josephine's that they return it to the rightful owners who would probably, in Cullen's opinion, use it to purchase more ruffles to go with their ridiculous Orlesian masks.

The poor agent was not so lucky, though, since the moment he arrived Cullen almost pounced on him to take the missive he was offering to Leliana.

Cullen's eyes flew over the words, devouring it in his haste to confirm Leliana's intel. Then, without thinking that the others might be curious to read it as well, he crumpled the paper in his fist and looked at the women with a victorious look on his face.

-We have him, Inquisitor! We've found Samson's lair!- And then he lamely offered the wrinkled paper to her. She took it and unraveled it to quickly read the short message for herself.

-I think we'd be nothing short of a nuisance from here on, Leliana,- said Josephine while Cullen stared at the Inquisitor as if trying to guess her reaction while she read the news. -If you don't mind, Inquisitor, we will leave you be.

Evelyn made quick work of the letter and raised her eyes to Josephine.

-Yes, yes of course. Thank you.

The women then walked side by side to the door, but before they opened it, Josephine turned once again.

-I'll have the guards ready Mistress Poulin for you to pass judgment when you finish here.

As always when she had to sit as judge and, in worse cases that had blessedly not presented themselves yet, executioner, Evelyn grimaced, though still nodded toward Josephine and thanked her.

As soon as the Ambassador had turned toward the door with Leliana at her side, Cullen had stepped closer to Evelyn, standing perhaps a bit too close to her to hide their newfound familiarity.

All hopes that the women had not caught on was lost when, just a second before the door closed behind them, Evelyn could hear Leliana chuckling, while a giggling Josephine shushed her as she tried to dissimulate her own amusement. Cullen had apparently heard nothing, though.

-Finally… we're so close,- he said, looking down at the paper in Evelyn's hand. -Usually my duties keep me here, but for Samson? I'll make an exception…- The last words came out in a darker tone, almost as if Cullen was already savoring the punishment he had planned and refined with each atrocity that Samson had committed.

He then walked briskly toward the map and began to shuffle through his papers, already planning out a strategy while Evelyn stood staring at his back, still trying to digest the news that he would be accompanying her on this mission.

So many times, she had wished he could leave with her, making her time spent away more tolerable, even if they hadn't been together that long. When they were mere colleagues, she had likewise wished she could at least support him in his fight against his addiction and provide him with the action he evidently craved to focus his mind on something else besides the constant threat he faced while detoxing. But deep down, no matter how much she missed him when she was away, every night she had fallen asleep comforted in the knowledge that he was safe at home. Now, in his eagerness to catch Samson, he had not even asked for her opinion, and she feared that no matter how she tried to convince him to stay, he would not budge.

He was leaning over the War Table, his hands down as he studied the map, holding his weight south of the Arbor Wilds.

Slowly, Evelyn walked toward him and placed a hand over his.

-Samson still has the Red Lyrium armor.

She hoped her tone would make him understand her concern without actually needing to spell it out for him. The reality was she was terrified of the effect Samson's gear might have on him after being clean from lyrium for so many months, and that was without even considering the pungent presence of the red substance both in the air and in each of their enemies she could feel whenever they fought the red templars. She feared it might be too much for Cullen to take, not to mention what his own guilt was forcing him to do after watching all his former brothers fall into Samson's maniacal plan.

All of this went through her mind in the span of a few seconds before Cullen turned to look at her, caressing her cheek softly.

-All the more reason for me to go.- His thumb traced the line of her jaw as his voice turned deeper, softer. -I would... sleep better, knowing I'd be at your side.

But then she realized that deep in those honeyed eyes shone a fear resembling her own, only driven by slightly different causes. Whereas she feared what the lyrium would do to him, he dreaded the idea of her facing Samson without him at her side to protect her.

And though that should have made her feel better, somehow it made it all the worse.


	50. Chapter 50

**Fifty chapters people! I never thought I (we) would get this far, but we did, and I'm so happy and grateful for all of you.**

 **This chapter is especially dedicated to Melicious Intent who had been here with me all this time (and before that still). In her I've found a wonderful friend, an amazing beta, a confidant and someone who is always there for me. You don't find that every day. Plus, this time is especial because we built one very funny scene together (usually we joke writing certain dialogues and some of them make it to the story)**

 **In case you are wondering, the title of this chapter is a direct reference to that scene. Enjoy and thank you for all your support!**

 **oOo**

Chapter 50: Working for peanuts.

Good for his word, an hour after the meeting a squad of Inquisition soldiers handpicked by the Commander himself was ready to part, though they had half an hour to spare before the Inquisitor and her companions could join them. It wasn't that they couldn't be ready in the same time the soldiers and Cullen could, but between sentencing Mistress Poulin to work as a scribe for the Inquisition, donating half her wages to the people of Sahrnia, and certain... complications with her companions of choice, Evelyn found that she barely made it to the deadline she and Cullen had agreed to in the War Room.

Nevertheless, ten minutes before noon, almost all the members of the inner circle accompanying her were there, though she couldn't claim to have picked them all... In fact, in all honesty she hadn't picked any of them.

Solas had especially petitioned to go with her on this mission, and she was more than willing to allow him that, considering he might find useful information in his explorations of the Fade while camping on the same lands where Samson commanded one of the red templars' most important outposts. So, when he requested to be included, she didn't hesitate. For this mission, though, she wanted two mages with her. Contrary to Solas, Dorian had specifically asked to stay. The sight of Sahrnia had been enough for him, and he told her that unless she really couldn't do without him and his abilities, he preferred to be left behind in Skyhold. By direct consequence, the addition of Vivienne to the group had been the only viable option.

She always tried to alternate who would accompany her on her travels to keep everyone busy and equally involved, but sometimes things got in the way and she was forced to favor one companion over others more than once in a row. That was exactly what had happened this time with Blackwall. His presence at Sahrnia, even after he had recently broken a couple of ribs, was inevitable since going back to Skyhold to change her party might have given the templars the opportunity to run away or reinforce their guards after the Inquisition captured their lyrium providers. But for this new mission, she had decided the Warden would stay in Skyhold to recover while Cassandra would take his place. What she didn't know was that the Seeker would be less than happy with the idea of leaving the fortress after she had received news that Bann Loren had disappeared along with the Inquisition soldiers he was leading to Caer Oswin in the hopes of finding the missing Seekers, so she had decided she could not leave Skyhold until she had confirmation of their disappearance, in which case she had already requested Evelyn's help to go investigate themselves to see what was going on with her order. With the Seeker out, the next logical choice had been the Iron Bull, for even though Cullen had insisted on accompanying them on this mission, she also wanted two warriors with her to help on the front lines, and despite Cole favoring melee attacks over the range assaults of Sera and Varric, she feared both the brute force of the red templar knights combined with their tortured minds would complicate things for the boy. Unfortunately, along with Cassandra's news the latest batch of correspondence had also brought a request from the Qun to extend an offer of an alliance with the Inquisition, which meant Josephine was keeping the Iron Bull prisoner inside Skyhold until he could verify the information with his contact, Red.

As for Varric's presence, that had been more his decision than hers. She had already decided to be the only rogue on this mission, but the dwarf had practically imposed his presence in the group, and he would have taken Hawke with him too if she hadn't put her foot down. The group was already too big, and three mages was too much even for this mission. There was no way their lyrium supply could withstand that many members depending on it. Not to mention what that much Lyrium in the air might do to Cullen's rehabilitation, especially considering the Champion had a reputation of downing lyrium potions as easily as he put back mugs of ale.

When Cullen and two dozen men assembled in the courtyard, she looked at the Commander with apprehension. Still, she couldn't simply interrogate him in front of his men, lest she wanted to make him look like incompetent, so after the obligatory salutes were carried out, she casually pulled him aside to talk, pretending to be just going through some last minute decisions.

-Please tell me they've come here to wish us luck,- she muttered, surreptitiously nodding toward his squadron.

Cullen raised a brow in confusion.

-I _did_ say I was going to prepare a squadron of soldiers.

-Yes, but I didn't know that meant half the Inquisition!- she whispered indignantly. -We're heading for the Fields of Ghislain; that's as close to Nevarra as we can get without _physically_ crossing the border. Taking this many men,- she began to raise her hand to point toward the soldiers but decided against it at the last second to avoid suspicion, -will delay us so much that Samson will finish all his business before we even get _close_ to the Shrine!- She spoke quietly, but trying to gesticulate as little as possible while maintaining a serene facade was harder than she thought, and by the time she ended her statement, she was leaning closer to Cullen, both with their backs turned to the troupes, speaking through grinding teeth.

-Evey, relax. Not all of them are coming with us. Four of them are part of the Knights Initiative, and they've honed their riding skills for these kinds of situations. They'll ride ahead of us with most of the traveling gear to set camps in strategic points so we can make our stops as short as possible. The rest of them will stay in smaller groups to guard those camps until our return.

She didn't seemed entirely convinced yet, so he took out a map from one of his inner pockets and showed it to her. Between Skyhold and the Shrine of Dumat, Cullen had marked five points that demonstrated the lack of housing they would find on their journey. The camps fell just shy of their destination, at what she assumed would be at least a day of normal travel.

-Here is where the last of them will split off,- he said while pointing to the last camp post. -Then we will move forward to avoid any suspicion, but they'll still be close enough should we require urgent help. I calculated the distances, and one rider can close it in less than a day at full speed.

He had thought of everything, effectively rendering moot any complaint she might have made, and considering he was the strategist between the two of them, she doubted she could offer an alternative to his plan. But even if she could have said something to change his mind, he beat her to it.

-Are those the companions you're taking with you?- he added, looking back at Solas, Blackwall and Varric.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw that Madame de Fer had yet to grace them with her presence. The concept of " _fashionably late_ " had always bothered her, even when she had used it at the Winter Palace (with surprisingly good results), but Vivienne's obsession with putting it into practice with her as well was quickly getting on her nerves, making her sigh and rub her forehead in exasperation.

-Vivienne is supposedly accompanying us, too... but I'm considering leaving her if she doesn't show up soon.

As if the mage had been waiting for her to voice her frustrations, Madame de Fer appeared, wearing her white robes and horned headdress, something particularly inappropriate in terms of practicality since they had a long way ahead of them, and in what would be mostly wild territory no less. But asking Vivienne to wear something more plain would be akin to asking Corypheus to have a nice afternoon tea with Josephine to see if they could settle their disputes peacefully.

-And there she is,- she said, raising her hand toward the mage coming down the stairs leading to the courtyard. -And dressed to kill.

-More likely to _be_ killed,- added Cullen, staring more acutely at the mage, his eyes growing larger a second later. -Is she wearing high heels?

By then they were already moving to join her other companions, and Solas caught his commentary.

-Madame de Fer would never be seen standing at the same height as commoners.- Cullen raised a brow and Solas added, -and yes, Commander, _we_ are the commoners.

After that they somehow fell into their usual dynamic, incorporating Cullen to their group as if he had always traveled with them. As promised, the group of four soldiers left ahead of them, riding the mounts that had been brought from the mountainside camp, and leaving them to begin their journey at their own pace, promising to get the first camp ready before Evey and company could get there. The rest rode with them, making their journey less private than it usually was and their passage more noticeable.

Each afternoon, the soldiers would hoard all the manual labor, setting up individual tents for the Inquisitor and her companions, and communal ones for themselves, taking care of dinner and guard shifts, which left her with little to do but perhaps take care of her horse, and even that had proven a challenge with several soldiers telling her she should leave that to them and get her rest. She knew they were only trying to help, to be of use to the Inquisition, but contrary to Vivienne's utter delight at having the Inquisition's soldiers at her beck and call, she felt their eager attempts to please her a little too oppressive, even remembering fondly to their short sail across the Waking Sea, despite how much the ups and downs of the ship had affected Varric's health, much to Blackwall's amusement.

Cullen, on the other hand, was thoroughly enjoying his men's efficiency, even though he could tell they were getting on Evey's nerves. He didn't like to see her fretting about, but he preferred that to facing another attack on her, as had happened the last time they had traveled together. A pacing Inquisitor was a safe Inquisitor, and a fidgeting Evey was a visible Evey, which made his work of protecting her much easier. Or at least it did until the second night, whereupon she disappeared.

At first, he tried to remain as calm as he could manage, but with each passing minute he grew more restless than the last. Finally, he decided to go near their tents to inquire her companions about it.

The four of them were sitting by the fire, and if Cullen didn't know better he would have thought that even Vivienne was enjoying their talk, something that was highly improbable with her still resenting Cullen and the others for deciding to make camp instead of pushing their mounts a little further until they reached the next village where they could at least find "barely civilized accomodations".

-Has anyone seen the Inquisitor?- he asked to no one in particular while still glancing around to see if he could spot her somewhere.

Blackwall was the first to answer.

-No. Wasn't she with you?

-Obviously not, or I wouldn't ask.- He didn't even care that his tone was openly showcasing his annoyance for all.

Vivienne answered this time, though she didn't deign to look at him, instead favoring her own carefully manicured nails that only Andraste knew how she kept pristine while fighting during their missions.

-She's well equipped to manage on her own for a time, Commander. No need to fret after her.

That was more than enough to make Cullen realize he had let too much of his true feelings show, after which he lamely tried to fix the situation by feigning disinterest.

-I... was only curious, that's all.

By the looks of it, nobody believed him.

-Last I heard, Curly,- said Varric after two long, embarrassing seconds, -she was down by the creek.

In his haste to find her, Cullen barely managed to thank Varric for the information, not even noticing how everyone looked at the dwarf in suspicion.

Just a second later the only thing left of the Commander was a cloud of dirt stirring in the air where he had been standing a moment before. It was then that Solas decided to voice what was on everyone's mind.

-Varric, the Herald is _bathing_. Why would you tell him, knowing that he would go after her?

The devilish smile Varric gave could have easily rivaled Hawke or Dorian's.

-Shits and giggles.

oOo

Cullen couldn't move. In fact, after ten full seconds, he suspected his legs didn't work anymore, and a part of him wished they would never work again as long as he could just keep looking at her.

It was wrong, he knew it was, but he couldn't bring himself to stop staring her way long enough to turn around and leave. There she was, naked as the day she was born, sitting on a rock, her head leaning to one side, her hair covering most of her upper body, while she washed it with a rough soap (the best most of them could manage outside Skyhold, apart from Vivienne). Her legs were crossed at the ankles, making her back straighten each time she raised her hands to wash the upper half of her hair. Cullen could only imagine how that might make her breast stand out, the mere idea making his temperature rise and his body respond, which only worsened once she bent to fill a pot she had stolen from camp with the water at her feet, and then stood up and moved her hair back, bending her body backwards in order rinse the soap off her hair.

Now Cullen could see her from head to toe, standing in profile, her skin glistening with water, the soap rinsing from her hair to slide down her back and over her behind, some of it even traveling down her breast, following the path that Cullen desperately wanted to trace with his hands, his lips...

-Maker!- The whisper was so soft that even he had problems hearing it, the air rushing from his lungs in a sigh along with it more audible than the word itself.

She was… sin in the flesh. A woman so perfect in his eyes that not even the Maker Himself could have made her so fitting to his most primal desires.

He needed to go, the sooner the better, before lust reached his brain and muddied his thoughts until he could do nothing but join her.

When she bent to refill the pot, still standing, he drew the line... No matter how much his body begged him to stay, he couldn't.

He turned in final decision, but felt her presence at his back like a predator stalking him, awakening a need to turn again, not to defend himself, but to surrender completely. It was then, when he gathered all his resolve and took the first step, that a twig snapped below his feet.

He heard her turn and fumble in place, and he knew now he couldn't possibly escape without her noticing him. In fact, when he turned as well, he found her looking in his direction with nothing but her daggers in hand, hair plastered to her body yet covering absolutely nothing of her nakedness, traces of soap foam still lingering on some strands and sliding down her body. She looked like a goddess, but Cullen felt like he was in the Void. The things she must be thinking of him.

 _Talk! Say something,_ he urged himself internally.

-I'm sorry, I was...- He pointed toward the camp and cleared his throat, painfully aware that she was doing nothing to cover her body from his eyes, and that her distressed look was slowly turning into something else..., disappointment at his demeanor, perhaps?

-You weren't at camp and Varric said...- He sighed, realizing that nothing he could say could explain this situation. -Forgive me.

He turned and fled so quickly that he didn't see her stepping toward him, nor hear her calling him, too focused on the voice inside his head cursing his stupidity.

The moment he appeared in camp, he caught Blackwall and Varric's guffaws receiving him, effectively making a deep red hue raise to his cheeks, though he wasn't sure if it was due to embarrassment, lingering desire, utter humiliation, or teeming rage. Probably the last one, considering how his steps became more foreceful the more he approached the laughing pair.

When he finally reached the group, and consequently his own tent, he made the mistake of instinctively following his training, announcing his destination without even thinking of what he was inadvertently implying.

-I'll be in my cot.

- _That_ good, uh?- chuckled Varric, mocking the clearly flustered Commander.

-No, _dwarf_ ,- was Cullen's enraged answer, the last word spitting out like an insult.

His tone did not sway Varric in the least, though, just as it didn't frighten Blackwall at all, both laughing even harder at Cullen's biting words.

A few minutes later, he heard the laughs renew when Evelyn arrived, the dwarf also teasing her and laughing alongside the Warden. Cullen could not be sure if he felt sad or relieved for not being able to hear her mumbling answer.

oOo

The next days had been complete torture, Cullen's need to protect her constantly clashing with his guilt for spying on her and the persistent and inevitable impossibility to explain himself. Though at least, with each day, those feelings diluted themselves between more pressing matters, in complete opposition to the images still fresh in both their minds that seemed to be clearer by the hour. Cullen was pursued by the memory of her form, nude and untainted in a world that seemed hellbent on perverting everything he had known, fresh and inviting when everything around him was fighting them each step of the way, enticing and pure in a period of his life where nothing except her appeared to be uncorrupted. Evey was constantly hunted by the look he'd had that night on his face, her same desires reflected in those amber eyes, by his utter frustration, trying to go against all those feelings that just screamed to throw caution to the wind and make whatever time they could steal count, and by his humiliation at being forced to avoid a step that both clearly desired but were not yet ready to take.

In the midst of that, any negative feelings were lost between stolen glances that spoke volumes, hers telling him she understood and knew he had not pried on her intimacy out of lechery, his asking her for forgiveness for, past the humiliation, crowning that moment as something wholly beautiful, a sacred if not stolen moment that would forever be branded on his mind and heart, even if they had stumbled upon it unwittingly.

By the end of the first day which they wouldn't share with the soldiers until they came back from the mission, both Cullen and Evey's eyes were filled with nothing beyond a desperate need to be together, if only in the presence of the other in perfect privacy, to smooth any rough edges that their silent communication might have left untouched, and move past their mutual discomfort over a moment that deep down neither of them regretted, but both had had the illusion that it would happen under their terms and by their own accord.

That night, after they had pitched three tents, decided on guard nightshifts, and cooked their meal, all of them gathered around the fire. Varric sat comfortably between Blackwall and Solas, the second bottle of something that Evelyn suspected was quite strong liquor passing hands between the two of them. The hedge mage was obviously trying to be on the opposite end from Vivienne, who had chosen a place next to the Warden and Evelyn. She was purposely ignoring all the men, casually attempting to engage in small talk with the Inquisitor, who in turn was too aware of the Commander's presence at her other side, making the mage desist with her intentions shortly after in favor of reading a book she had brought with herself, giving Cullen the perfect excuse to scoot closer to Evelyn to talk about their itinerary for the next few days.

Unfortunately, a couple of minutes into their task, Varric began to tell tales of his adventures with Hawke, which soon degenerated into tavern stories also featuring the Champion of Kirkwall. It didn't take long for Evey to lower the map Cullen had given her and look at him apologetically.

-I'm sorry, It's just hard to get anything done when Varric is less than ten feet away, drunkenly bragging about how Hawke can fit eight peeled peanuts in his nose and trying to get Blackwall to break his record,- she scoffed, gesturing toward the dwarf, who was either too intoxicated to notice or simply didn't care if she was talking about him to even look back at her. Blackwall took the proffered bag of peanuts and eyed at them with curiosity, the calculations currently running in his head nearly evident in his dark eyes. -It's mean to make something up like that.

Cullen looked back at the pair and simply stated the shameful truth:

-He's not lying.

Evelyn's gaze on the Warden and the storyteller immediately shifted to the Commander, looking at him with the same incredulity as she had witnessed during Blackwall's silent dilemma on whether he should take Varric's bet or not.

-What?

Cullen simply nodded.

-I saw him do it. Hawke and an old templar friend of mine once settled a disagreement by determining who could shove the most peanuts in his nose. Hawke won.- Then he shrugged his shoulders. -Not the most commendable moment in the Order's history.

Evey's nose wrinkled in disgust.

-That's… gross.

The Commander raised both eyebrows.

-Well, if you think that's bad, I won't tell you what they did with the peanuts once the matter was settled.

The Inquisitor was about to voice her aversion once again to all the possibilities her mind could come up with for the destination of said peanuts (being raised with a pair of older brothers, she had no problem coming up with a colorful variety of repugnant ends to the appetizers) when they heard Varric burst into uproarious laughter.

By the time they turned, Blackwall had already stuck two peeled peanuts into his right nostril and was about to stick the third in the left one.

-Nuh uh, no cheating! You have to fit all eight in the same nostril.

To which the Warden smiled and asked,

-What do I get if I fit six in each one?

-My complete and utter respect, and the certainty that your feat will forever be immortalized in my stories.

Blackwall seemed to appreciate the idea of taking the Champion's place in Varric's story, because he immediately began to peel the next peanut, delighted to find that one held three instead of two like the last, and pushing them one at a time up his nose.

The scene was so bizarre that nobody once thought to force the warden to stop, and for a while the only sounds breaking the silence of the night were the crackling fire, Vivienne's book pages complaining to her increasingly violent way of turning them, Varric's encouragements, and Blackwall's current wheezing nose while the poor organ was trying its best to fit the peanuts and still perform its function.

By the time Blackwall reached five, he told Varric he would alternate between both nostrils to better fit all peanuts, and between the dwarf's desperate attempts to stop laughing to better watch the scene play out, things took an even more bizarre (albeit predictable) turn.

Drunk as they were, any odd sound or face triggered both Varric's and Blackwall's hilarity, and so it happened that, when the Warden's nose tried to force air between the peanuts, the whistling sound made Blackwall inhale to laugh, sucking one peanut further up his nose and blocking his nostril completely, turning the unborn laugh into coughing fits that sent four peanuts straight onto the ground, leaving only the one tucked snuggly in one of his nostrils.

-Oh for Andraste's sake, not this again!- was Cullen's reaction to Blackwall, who tried to force air out through his nose to push the intruder out.

- _Again_?- said Evelyn while Vivienne peeked over with a disgusted face to view the struggling Warden.

Cullen then looked at Evelyn, grimacing.

-How do you think the templar that challenged Hawke ended up losing that night?

Her answer was lost when Solas finally intervened, looking at the Warden as if he were developing a headache.

-You _are_ aware that now _I'm_ the one who must see to you if you suffocate because you can't get that out?

-Or you could do something to help me push it out,- Blackwall suggested, sounding terribly nasal and completely ridiculous while waving a hand as if conjuring a spell, his nose exhibiting a considerable bulge up one side.

Solas rubbed his forehead and glared at Blackwall as if weighing whether Thedas was worth saving at all if its heroes could behave in such a manner. Then he answered in a defeated tone,

-That's _not_ how magic works! And quite frankly, I'm not sure I'd be willing to help even if it _did_.

Still trying to blow the peanut out of his nose, Blackwall turned to Vivienne to see if the Enchanter would do something instead, or at the very least prove the elf wrong as she was always eager to do, but the woman simply ignored him, masking her face into one of complete calm, even as a bulging vein on her temple betrayed her facade.

-Think you could do better, Chuckles?

For the thousandth of a second, Evelyn actually thought she saw a twinkle in Solas' eyes, as if he wouldn't be able to ignore Varric's goading and was considering accepting the challenge. In fact, that fleeting look in his eyes even convinced her that if he accepted, Solas would most definitely win, and even still look graceful doing it. Nevertheless, as quickly as that rebel fire burned in the elf's eyes, it extinguished in favor or his more solemn demeanor.

Varric, realizing his challenge would not find another victim, took a small flask from his rucksack and offered it to the Warden.

-Here, Hero, sniff this.

Blackwall took it almost automatically, not even waiting to reply before sniffing it with his only available nostril.

-What is it?

He never got an answer to that, barely managing to voice the last word before a violent and hard sneeze took him by surprise, ejecting the peanut out of his nose and directly onto Vivienne's cropped hair.

The scream left them all in shock. Madame Vivienne, the impassive Iron Lady, Court Enchanter to Empress Celine and First Enchanter of the Ostwick Circle, had risen to her feet and screamed at the top of her lungs, her perfect mahogany skin flushing like cherrywood with uncontained fury.

Then, as easily as she had exploited, she shook it off... literally. She shook her head with an ease which likely spoke of a time when she had had longer hair and brushed it from her face indignantly, ironed her outfit with a hand, and elegantly retreated to a tent without uttering another word. For Blackwall and Varric, it had been as good as a cold shower, their drunken levity forgotten and their laughs stifled. It was then that Varric rose to his feet, wiped at a leftover tear of hilarity that was falling from his eye, and waved goodnight as he retired to the tent, leaving a mortified Blackwall to lower his gaze to his boots in embarrassment.

-Oh, for... Hold this to your nose,- Solas said a second later, offering Blackwall a tear of fabric just as the Warden raised his hand after noticing a trail of blood trickling down to his moustache. And the timing couldn't be more perfect, for the moment Blackwall covered his nostril with it, the blood began pouring profusely.

-Raise your head,- advised Solas, the exact opposite of Varric, who now heard laughing again from inside the tent.

-For how long?- came Blackwall's nasal question.

-For as long as I see fit,- Solas' tone was so curt that he made Blackwall think twice before uttering another question, yet the Warden dared to push the situation a little further, the alcohol taking its toll on him as well.

-Can I go lie down, then?

Evelyn had never heard Blackwall speak so cautiously, sounding more like an actual child than an adult who had behaved like one.

-Go, but keep your head inclined backwards.- Then the elf turned to Evelyn. -Inquisitor, would you mind switching shifts? I need to take care of this,- he gestured toward Blackwall, who was currently trying to walk to the tent he shared with Varric while unable to look anywhere except for the stars, but still knew perfectly well that he was both the topic of discussion and the target of Solas' aggravation.

-Uhmmm, yeah. Sure.

Evelyn's answer was only slightly tinged with nervousness at realizing she would have Cullen all to herself for the next two hours. Perhaps they wouldn't be able to kiss, fearing one of their companions would wake up and come out of the tent at that exact moment, but they would at least be able to share some time alone, and perhaps, if they were very careful, even talk about what had happened at the creek.

Solas rose and, without saying another word, took his rucksack from the tent they had previously decided he would share with Cullen, letting everyone know he would likely switch places with Varric to keep a watchful eye on Blackwall during the night. Unfortunately, as Evelyn was about to also look for her backpack to retrieve her reports and plan their next movements while she and Cullen were on guard, the elf stormed out of the Warden's tent again, grumbling in longwinded elvish something sounding like anything but lofty praises.

- _Fenedhis lasa,_ they've passed out already. I'll have to share the tent with them.- Even though he was simply stating the facts, something in Solas' tone made her imagine steam rising out of the elf's bald head.

While he explained, though, Evelyn was trying to open the tent she shared with Vivienne, but the canvas seemed to be welded shut.

-Ummm, Solas? I don't mean to add to your problems, but is there any way to seal a tent with magic?- Evelyn's tone was apologetic, but even so, Solas couldn't help but rub his forehead in exasperation.

-There is indeed, and I daresay there's a high chance Madame de Fer has done exactly that. I can't take care of it now, though; you'll have to share a tent with the Commander.

Almost as if their hearts themselves could hear the elf's words, Cullen and Evey could feel their pulses rise at the idea of sleeping together, but from the outside they appeared only resigned, as if this turn of events was nothing but another complication that they needed to sort out as easily and as simply as possible.

Before either of them could respond to this, though, Solas bid them goodnight, asking to be awakened when his guard shift began, and disappeared inside the tent, where a pair of deep, rumbling snores greeted him.

When they were left alone, Cullen and Evey looked to one another and smiled sweetly. Then, almost automatically, the Inquisitor sat next to him, where Cullen was already waiting for her with an open arm, allowing her to settle before surrounding her with his cloak.

For the better half of their shift, they remained like that, interrupted only by the crackling fire and the occasional fleeting and unthreatening sounds of the forest around them. Then, when there was no doubt that all their companions had fallen asleep, almost as if it was part of the breeze that blew around them, Cullen's words reached her.

-The other day at the creek…- She immediately raised her head toward him to reassure him about it, telling him he didn't need to explain, but his eyes made her bite back the words. He needed to tell her this. -I… wasn't spying on you.- He then chuckled bitterly. -Well, perhaps in some way I did, but...- He sighed, raising a hand to hold her face with his palm. -I wish I could say it was all unintentional, but even if it began that way, once I realized Varric's prank, I just...- He smiled, and where Evelyn thought she would find embarrassment, she instead found something else, deeper, softer, but still primal, and her body was alight with that spark of mischief she saw laying there. -I just couldn't keep my eyes off you.

He slowly bent toward her, allowing her the time to retreat if she desired it. When his lips were about to touch hers, he whispered one last thing.

-And Maker help me, I didn't want to.

They should have been discreet, especially considering in less than an hour they would have a tent all to themselves after Vivienne had decided to lock herself in the one that she was supposed to share with Evelyn, but their days apart and the memory of that moment made them forget all caution and just surrender to one another, until they were forced to pull back only to get enough air in their lungs. Breathing slowly to avoid making any sounds that might alert the others of what was going on outside their tents was turning out to be as difficult as ending their kiss, but eventually they settled on holding one another in front of the fire until their shift ended. And it couldn't have come at a more perfect time, for just a few minutes before they needed to wake Solas and Blackwall to relieve them, Cullen felt Evelyn's body sway in what seemed to be the preludes of a fight against exhaustion, which he recognized all too well from his own long hours on the nightshift in Kinloch Tower.

-You should go to the tent. I'll wake the others,- Cullen whispered close to her ear, and the immediate movement below him told him she had not been asleep, but was still too tired to raise right away.

However, even when he let her go, she didn't move from her position, looking at the fire as if she was reading some hidden message in the flames there. When she was still sitting after Cullen stood up and stretched his muscles, he knelt before her and searched for her gaze with his.

-Evey?- At mention of her name, a deep crimson red crawled from her open collar to her face, but before he could ask what was going on, she just rose to her feet.

-Yes, sorry, I'll be in the tent.

And so she left him there, Cullen wondering if her mind was filled with the same thoughts that plagued him since Solas announced they would have to share a tent. The idea of taking Blackwall's place in his tent briefly crossed Cullen's mind, and he silently begged the Maker to not let the Warden or the elf realize the same once they got up. He wouldn't be able to refute the offer without appearing suspicious, but to agree with them would mean he would lose the chance to reenact the night they had shared so long ago in Orlais, only without barriers to keep them apart this time.

Luckily for him, when the men appeared, they were focused on anything but solving his apparent predicament of having to share a tent with the Inquisitor. Solas was constantly glaring at Blackwall, and the Warden was too finicky with the fabric plug the elf had forced into his nostril to absorb the blood to care where Cullen slept, both even ignoring the Commander's brief report on how the first shift had gone and leaving him to freely walk to his tent without so much as sparing a glance in his direction.

He knew nothing too intimate would happen that night between him and Evey, even though, as far as he had been able to read in her eyes, they both sorely wanted to. They were out on a mission, with no more protection from prying ears than a canvas that, granted, was so thick it could perfectly shield them from the inclement weather and the brightest firelight, but could never isolate them enough to have true intimacy. Besides, no matter how the image of her naked body lit his own, or how willing he felt she was when he laid next to her and she timidly reached for him, cuddling against his side after he passed one arm below her head and pulled her closer, he would not, under any circumstances, make love to her for the first time in a tent in the middle of bloody Ghislain.

Of course, that didn't mean Cullen's strong convictions would make this any easier on him.


	51. Chapter 51

Chapter 51: Before the Dawn

Months ago, Cullen had awoken to Evey's hands roaming over his body while she still dreamt in the Fade. Now it was her turn to wake up to Cullen's body yearning for hers.

He was lying just behind her, his body cradled against hers, her head resting on his arm. His hand rested close to her chest, the other draped over her waist, keeping her body flushed against him as he breathed so soft and peaceful on the back of her neck.

None of that had been what had awakened her though, but rather, something else entirely. By no stretch was this the first time she had felt the telltale swelling of manhood, not even in this particular setting, yet with Cullen, somehow she felt as if she was discovering new facets of herself, new feelings and sensations, in even known situations.

For a while, she wondered what she should do. She knew what she _wanted_ to do, but she was also well aware of the stirring outside which reminded her that Vivienne and Varric were only a few steps away, and therefore would be able to hear every single sound if she were to react. Besides, she feared her companions would enter her tent anytime now to wake them, and if they found them like this, even without noticing the more "compromising" aspect of it all, she would never hear the end of it. After all, the only one that would be able to ignore this and move on would be Solas, and he was probably still wandering the Fade at this early hour, whereas Varric was outside in the presence of Vivienne, who was known to relegate minor tasks to others, and would probably send the dwarf to wake them. And what a treat would this be for the merchant prince. She was certain that before they'd even have time to cover themselves, the storyteller would be sending a new, scandalizing manuscript to his editor in Kirkwall.

-Cullen?- she whispered, hoping the others wouldn't hear.

For a couple of heartbeats, nothing changed, but once she repeated his name, Cullen at last acknowledged her. Only not in the way she was aiming for.

At the soft calling of his name, he pulled her closer, burying his face in her hair while he pressed his body to her, pushing his desire strongly against her backside. It was then that Evey felt the world swirl and was unable to refrain herself from arching her hips back, a soft sigh mixing with the barest moan she could muster. Cullen seemed to enjoy this even more, slipping his arms completely around her waist and pressing her further against him while groaning low, his lips caressing her neck and nuzzling behind her ears. Every sound coming from him reverberated in her mind and made her shiver, lust building in her body and making her feel so wonderfully dizzy.

It was then, when Evey was seriously considering forgetting that anything existed beyond this man and their tent, that her trembling breached the barrier of his muddled mind, and Cullen's whole body tensed. He remained there, frozen in place, their clothes the only barrier separating them from head to toe, while Cullen realized this was real and not just another dream where he'd let his desires flow freely, almost at the same time he noticed what had probably awoken her. In the span of the second that took him to wake up fully and pull away from her, his mind filled with a myriad of possibilities, a voice inside his head pointing out that she hadn't run, that she had also pushed back against him, moving her body to his rhythm in a dance to the slow song they were composing together. Still, he retreated, sitting quietly in the tent and doing his best to find a comfortable position, which seemed impossible so long as her presence continued to sing to his body in the way it had just a moment ago.

When her hand touched his forearm, he closed his eyes tightly, his teeth clenching and making a fist with the opposite hand to prevent him from reaching for her and betraying the conviction that had stopped him the night before from doing anything more than just holding her in his arms.

-Sorry. These things happen; there's nothing I can do.

He didn't sound embarrassed or angry, but more pragmatic, utilizing practically the same tone he'd use whenever he would report to her at the War Table. It wasn't entirely surprising; they were, after all, adults and old enough to be comfortable talking about their sexuality.

Only they weren't talking about it, and even though he seemed practical about it, he didn't appear willing to discuss it, either.

That didn't stop her from trying, though.

-You shouldn't...

-Please, let's forget about it,- he muttered, gathering his cloak and turning to look at her, his eyes immediately softening. Then he raised his hand and caressed her cheek lightly. -I'll go out first.

He took up his backpack and left the tent, leaving her alone to listen to him greet the others and walk away from camp with the excuse of washing himself before breakfast.

oOo

They were less than half a day's ride from the Shrine, so after they gathered their essentials, they rode at a steady pace to arrive somewhere around the afternoon.

The first part of their journey was the mostly relaxed, with everyone eyeing their surroundings carefully, but fully aware the possibility of crossing paths with Red Templars here was slim, especially considering Leliana's agents' reports stating they usually arrived at the Shrine from the east, whereas they were traveling from the west.

Vivienne was the only one that kept a composed yet disturbing silence the entire time. She still appeared extremely cold toward Blackwall, ignoring him even when he spoke specifically to her, raising her chin in superiority and just looking elsewhere.

The Warden, for his part, still had the piece of fabric jammed up his nose. Solas, who was now his usual stoic self, had forbidden him from removing it until he stated otherwise, and after the night he'd had thanks to the dwarf's challenge, Blackwall was more than willing to indulge him in his vengeance.

Varric's attention was split between observing the fallout from his work last night unfold, and speculating in silence about Evelyn and Cullen's night together. Sure, the Inquisitor said that Vivienne had welded her tent shut, preventing anyone else from sleeping there, but he was a storyteller. Even if romance stories weren't his forte, he recognized the fleeting glances that fluttered between the Commander and the Herald from time to time.

As for Cullen, he seemed contemplative. Whether it was over the upcoming battle, finally catching Samson, his relationship with Evelyn, or what had happened in their tent that morning, the Inquisitor couldn't tell, and as long as they rode together in close formation (a safety measure Cullen had insisted on), her doubt was bound to remain a mystery. Still, it wasn't in Evelyn's nature to just resign herself to fate and forget about something like that, but apparently it was Andraste's plan that she remain frustrated in that particular area, for when she tried to maneuver her horse between Cullen and Blackwall's with all the intention of luring him just far enough from the group to whisper without being heard, feigning a consultation about their strategy, the Warden decided to ask something that had apparently been nagging him since the night before.

-Solas?- he wondered absently, touching his nose without disturbing the fabric plug.

-Yes, Blackwall...

The Warden hesitated after that, almost as if he was having second thoughts about his question. By then, everyone in the Inner Circle knew that Blackwall was not a person who didn't cave to curiosity, so they all just waited, convinced that he would eventually give into it. This time though, it would have been better if he had simply refrained.

-...How many peanuts can you stick...

-Oh, _fenedhis_ , I'm not going to play this _absurd_ game of yours! Have you learned _nothing_ from last night?!- Somewhere behind them, Vivienne made a noise that, strangely enough, seemed to support the elf's point. For once, they were in total agreement.

Varric, on the other hand, was more than willing to revisit the issue, and the dwarf's hoarse voice came from just behind the warrior.

-Yeah, don't ask him, Hero. Chuckles already has too many things jammed up all his orifices,- he ginned, shamelessly provoking the elf.

Varric, of course, was expecting Solas' typical response to his usual prodding, wherein the elf would straighten his back, raise his eyebrow inquisitively, and reduce his movements to a minimum, almost as if he were, in fact, a practitioner of that which Varric accused him of. Instead, and against all odds, Solas glanced back at the storyteller, an uncharacteristic glint of mischief in his eyes, and then responded to the Warden with a smile.

-...What are the stakes?

Evelyn leaned forward in her saddle, trying to look at Solas beyond Blackwall's frame.

-The stakes are _"the fate of the world as we know it"_ \- came the Warden's booming answer, the last words voiced in an ominous tone. Still, he received nothing but silence and a look that was more characteristic of the elf. -Just kidding. Fifty silver.

-You cannot be serious!- Vivienne fumed, practically drilling a hole in the elf's nape with her eyes, and after he didn't show signs of acknowledging her any time soon, Evelyn thought she heard her mumbling something about "uncivilized brutes".

While Solas was still considering Blackwall's offer, Varric intervened.

-You sure you want to do this, Hero? He'll probably fall back on magic. I still think he did when we played cards, last week.

As if the elf had not surprised them all enough, he chuckled.

-You wouldn't be the first to mistake skill for treachery. Or the last.

Despite Solas' retort, Varric's warning seemed to make Blackwall reconsider, while also shed some new light over Hawke's infamous feat.

-Wait a minute...- Varric's voice called everyone's attention, especially Cullen's, who thought the dwarf had spotted an enemy and immediately moved his hand to his hilt. - _Shit._ I think Hawke used magic the _first_ time.- He raised his eyebrows in appreciation. -Huh. In front of a dozen templars… Ballsy move, pal.

The dwarf then took a pause, urging his horse forward between Blackwall and Evey.

-But just to be sure,- he leaned backwards to look at Cullen from behind Evelyn's back.- What do _you_ think, Curly? Felt anything tingling with magic when Hawke won that bet?

Evey turned to look at Cullen just in time to see his nose wrinkle in disgust.

-I refuse to talk about tingling of any nature with you, Varric.- Then he looked back at the dwarf, sporting his best Commander face. -Last time we talked about something similar, every templar in _Kirkwall_ read your little story.

From his place next to Varric, Blackwall chuckled.

-I'll have to read that.

-Meredith burnt them all,- was the dwarf's bitter reply, contrasting completely with Cullen's voice, which sounded grateful and almost devoted.

-Andraste be praised!

After that, either nobody remembered or cared about the fact that Solas had been on the verge of accepting Blackwall's challenge, the conversation between the Warden and the dwarf shifting to the contents of the story Meredith had made sure disappeared from the face of Thedas. He entertained everyone but Cullen with the scandalous tale of a young templar named Culbert, who had discovered that magic could make him feel more than just the weight of his righteous duty. It was exaggerated, extravagant and had twisted its original source so much that the only accurate part was the description of the tingling Varric had asked Cullen about back in Kirkwall, though the physical consequences of that feeling in the templar protagonist were so lewd that, if they were real, the association between templars and mages would have never worked. Still, "Culbert" was almost the spitting image of a young Cullen, and the Commander suddenly remembered bitterly how Meredith had looked at him after the story had spread through the barracks like wildfire, her eyes aflame with accusation, not even bothering to hide her barely contained rage. The Knight Commander was unable to outright blame him, considering the dwarf had at least had the decency to conceal the identity of his source of the perfect description of what a templar felt when a mage casted close to him under another name, which even though was similar to his own, was still different enough to give him the opportunity to defend himself.

True to himself, what had been published as a short story had now become a full series that grew longer with each mile they traversed, the dwarf expanding its universe and the complexity of Culbert's character to the point where Cullen hardly recognized him (or his own reflection in him), and he was grateful the dwarf had not put that much effort in the story back in Kirkwall.

Reality, though, had a way of always sneaking up on them before they noticed. Soon, Varric changed his tune and cut his story short faster than he'd even done.

-And _then_ , right in the middle of the Harrowing... Oh, shit.

At first, everyone save Cullen thought the dwarf was simply voicing the part of the protagonist and was about to reveal an amazing twist in the story. That is, until they followed the dwarf's eyes to a destroyed caravan ahead of them, two corpses piled next to it like they were nothing of importance. And beyond that, almost a spec in the horizon, the outline of the fortress they were looking for.

Even at this distance, the Shrine of Dumat looked ominous, and effectively silenced all amicable chatting they had mantained thus far, a proverbial storm cloud over their heads.

They closed the distance to the Shrine in record time, wary of their surroundings but gaining speed as they drew closer, eager to catch the red templars with their guard down. As they approached, however, it became increasingly apparent that the fortress was abandoned. No one, not even a sentinel, warned of their advance, and by the time they reached the gates, Cullen's expectations had been destroyed. Yet, his training advised caution, and he made sure to tell that to the others, breaching the entrance in a perfect circle, watching each other's back in case of foul play.

The derelict fortress showed some sign of activity. All the rubble had been piled up through the courtyard and in some areas of the ramparts, suspiciously resembling barricades that boded nothing good, though the hardest evidence was the red templar banners hanging from the main building's wall, the remnants of campfires scattered in the middle of the yard and the half burned red tents from which dense smoke still plumed. But besides that and a few forgotten cases and boxes, the fortress seemed deserted, as if Samson's men had abandoned it in a haste, trying to burn everything left behind.

-This is it: the heart of Samson's command.

Cullen spoke softly, making sure only his companions could hear him in case there were hidden red templars further in the yard. At his words, the group halted, still in the entrance of the fortress, looking as far as their eyes could see to try to find out if there was someone waiting for them.

After just a couple of seconds, Evelyn voiced all their concerns.

-I don't see him anywhere. Or hear him... Or anyone else for that matter.

-Nor I,- answered Cullen in a harsh tone, only to soften it afterwards. -Maker, tell me he hasn't fled...

Samson might have fled, but soon they realized that, as they suspected, he had left a whole battalion of men behind. Some looked perfectly human, whereas others had clear signs of Red Lyrium corruption, but the ones that never failed to make Evelyn's skin crawl and Cullen's whole soul cry in agony were those whose humanity was as lost as Samson's loyalty to the Chantry.

More times than not, they were surrounded by red templar knights, shadows and horrors that fought mercilessly to keep them out of the fortress, and for a while Cullen wondered if they were defending Samson, still entrenched inside. But any speculation on his part stopped the moment a Red Templar horror tried to cut off Evey's path, the blades of sharp red lyrium that had once been the templar's arms and hands reaching for her, slicing the air dangerously close to where she stood.

After that, nothing else mattered but covering her, keeping her out of danger, but her fighting style, grounded more in flexibility and speed than in brute force that he could never dream of matching let alone anyone else when facing a red templar, made his task terribly difficult. She was constantly dodging attacks and leaping back and forth, even rushing to the flanks of her enemies to slice them apart with her dual daggers, and if they wouldn't have been in such a dangerous situation, Cullen would have stopped to admire her technique, fascinated by the grace of her movements. Instead, he concentrated on complementing her weak spots, standing in any place he thought could be perceived as a route to exploit and hurt her, and stepping forward whenever she moved back, their combined attack resulting in something akin to a perfect yet deadly dance that soon ended with them winded, but nevertheless victorious.

It wasn't until the second wave that Cullen actually feared for her life. They had defeated the guards standing in the courtyard and again, the fortress lay in silence. Checking that no one had been injured, they gathered any supplies they could salvage from their fallen enemies and moved on, Evelyn at the head of the team. When she opened the door, as if by blood magic, a behemoth stepped out, more lyrium than man, its strides cumbersome but long enough to nearly collide with Evelyn after just two steps, even if she was already retreating. Cullen's heart rose to his throat and his body acted on instinct, immediately standing between her and the monster, his arm dragging her behind him in a protective stance. But what his frightened mind didn't think was that she would risk her life for him as readily as he was willing to jeopardize his, and in the blink of an eye, he found her rushing behind the behemoth and burying her daggers in the red lyrium crystals that covered the beast's back.

Just because they weren't involved romantically with Evelyn didn't mean her other companions were about to just stand and watch how the couple fared in battle, so it was no surprise that just a moment later Blackwall joined them on the frontline while Varric, Solas, and Vivienne riddled the behemoth with both bolts and magic until there was nothing left of the creature but the glowing remnants of what once had been a man.

After that, things didn't get any easier. Bunkered inside was the bulk of Samson's soldiers, waiting in their positions, not even charging ahead after they were clearly visible, keeping their spot as if they had been instructed to die rather than be lured to a trap by leaving their post. So, it ended up being their job to clear a path for themselves, leaving a trail of dead men behind them, their bodies scattered through the fortress or rolling to the burning lower levels once they fell against a railing that was too weakened by the fire below.

They trotted through the galleries without so much as a spared glance for their surroundings, worried only with the enemies ahead of them, the safety of their companions, and the hope of finding Samson at the end of the fortress.

But the General of the Red Templars was nothing if not a sneaky bastard, a concept that was about to be strongly reinforced in each of their minds.

When the group entered the last room, they found several red lyrium veins dominating what looked to once have been someone's private quarters. There was a grand table in the middle filled with scattered papers, half filled pitchers, sconces, maps and a mess of reports everywhere, all framed by red lyrium crystals so big that they could have easily rivaled the ones they had found in Sahrnia's quarry, only these where filling a closed room, surrounding them completely.

But none of that registered in their minds beyond the initial surprise, for when they descended the main stairs, all their eyes focused on the man dressed in mage robes sitting on the floor, resting disturbingly close to the largest red lyrium crystal in the room, holding his right side with his left hand as if closing a bleeding wound, despite the fact that there was no blood visible. Even though a twitching in his hand proved he was in pain, nothing else in his demeanor betrayed this, his face looking almost peaceful, and his voice as flat and monotone as was expected from someone marked with the cold and unforgiving sign of the Chantry's sunburst in their forehead.

Slowly, cautiously even, after the man in front of them appeared to pose no threat, Cullen and Evey approached until they were standing on either side of the tranquil.

-Hello, Inquisitor,- the impassive man said, looking straight to Evelyn, something in his voice almost indicating a familiarity that they had never shared.

-You know me?

Though the question was directed at the mage, it was Cullen who answered, kneeling next to the man and meeting his eyes.

-It's Maddox, Samson's tranquil…- Then his eyes briefly glanced her way, only to turn again to the man in front of him, his voice dire. - Something's wrong. I'll send for the healers.

But before he could rise, the mage's serene voice stopped him in his tracks.

-That would be a waste, Knight Captain Cullen.- The mere mention of his previous title made Cullen flinch. -I drank my entire supply of blightcap essence. It won't be long now.

Evelyn's spirit sank at the mage's words. He was telling the truth. She still remembered the herbalist in the Chantry warning everyone not to touch the three varieties of fungi that normally carried the darkspawn's corruption, for even if they couldn't transmit the disease, the trait made them extremely poisonous. They could force the man to drink all their supply of health potions, strike him repeatedly with healing spells, and make him chew elfroot, and still watch him inevitably die.

-We only wanted to ask you questions, Maddox,- she said sincerely.

She, or anyone else in the Inquisition, had nothing against the Tranquil, and they had only come here to either kill Samson or look for answers that might lead them to him. The mage didn't seem to care for the kindness they had been willing to offer, and when Evelyn tried to explain what they were there for, he just looked at her, as phlegmatic as was characteristic of his kind.

-Yes. That is what I could not allow. I destroyed the camp with fire,- he added in the same unemotional tone one would use when reading off a list of ingredients. -We all agreed it was best. Our deaths ensured that Samson had time to escape.

He talked about his approaching demise as something unimportant, only one more of his unending responsibilities, the task as exciting as anything ever was for tranquils.

Cullen's voice, in turn, sounded the exact opposite, his rage and indignation rising with every word and every cold, heartless revelation.

-Your threw your _lives_ away?- His brow creased. -For _Samson_?- The incredulity in his tone was only mirroring everyone else's feelings on the matter. -Why?

But the Commander's incensed and passionate words did not reach the mage, who once again answered as stoically as ever.

-Samson saved me even before he needed me. He gave me purpose again.

By the look of it, something inside Cullen broke at that, as if the mage had stabbed him in his heart.

Such loyalty to someone so despicable… Such need to feel oneself useful again… The Chantry thought tranquility stripped mages of their emotions, and for the better part of it they were right, but some, the deepest more meaningful ones, seemed to linger somehow. And that made Evey's throat constrict, as if Samson were there with his hands around her neck, trying to extinguish the life inside her.

The feeling only got worse when Maddox's voice became softer, his life escaping alongside his last words and breaths.

-I... wanted to help...

As the tranquil's head fell lifeless against his chest, Cullen's mimicked it, shaking it in remorse, regretting Maddox's fate. Then, with a last look at the mage as he set him down gently on the floor, he stood and turned to Evelyn.

-We should check the camp. Maddox may have missed something.

They did just that, splitting in pairs to search for the dozens of papers scattered over the floor and tables, searching for something that might give them a clue of where Samson had gone.

With each second, though, Cullen's spirit fell ever downward, the weight on his shoulders burdening him more than ever, affecting even his usual confident gait. Still, this was no place to stop and talk, and though Evelyn felt her own heart breaking at the sight of him so discouraged, she remained silent, searching the room by his side, hoping that, for now, her presence would be enough comfort.

While the others went through the papers on the desk, she and Cullen walked to the back of the room where a double bed with a giant red lyrium crystal on its footboard and the red templar banner at its head, laid forgotten and disarranged, surrounded by what seemed enough bottles of red lyrium to poison each and every one of them.

-Lyrium bottles. Licked cleaned.

Her companions were there the second Cullen stopped talking, looking at the bottles as if their presence presaged the ominous warning that Evelyn's mind was already screaming inside her head.

-Drinking it, wearing it, growing it... You can't say Samson isn't committed.

By the tone he used, none of them would have been able to say whether Varric was trying to lift their spirits by joking, or was genuinely concerned for what the bottles might portend. The reality was probably a disturbing mix of both those sentiments.

-How much red lyrium is Samson taking? His resistance must be extraordinary.

Cullen's reflection worried them all, and the silence that fell over them became oppressive until Vivienne broke it.

-Commander, this seemed to be addressed to you,- she said, delivering a piece of parchment.

Everyone held their breaths, waiting for Cullen's explanation.

-Samson left a message. For me?

-Someone must have tipped him off you were coming,- said Varric, voicing what they were all thinking.

-I think you are right.- Cullen's answer sounded absent, his eyes devouring each line of Samson's letter. Evey walked closer to him, not wanting to pry, but resting her hand on his forearm nevertheless.

-What does it say?

-"Drink enough lyrium, and it's song reveals the truth"...- Cullen began to read. -"The chantry used us. You're fighting the wrong battle."- He raised an eyebrow and grimaced to show everyone what he thought of Samson's words. -"Corypheus chose me as his general, and his vessel of power." And other such nonsense,- he snorted. -As if I would sympathize.

Evey smiled softly at him.

-We should look in the other rooms.

Everyone began to walk away from there, but Cullen rushed to the back again, grabbed the bed's coverlet and placed it over Maddox's body reverently, sparing a moment for one last look.

When Evelyn approached, he spoke softly, his words only for her.

-A dismal place to die. It can't have been much of a place to live, either, under Samson's command.

She walked closer, and placed a hand on his arm.

-We can't leave him here. He should be properly laid to rest.

Cullen turned, taking her hand in his, smiling softly at her and thanking her with his eyes.

-I'll have someone take care of it. If even Samson did his best for Maddox, we can do no less.- He then raised his hand to her neck, brushing her cheek with his thumb.

-Inquisitor?- Blackwall's voice stopped Cullen from whatever he was about to say, and they both stepped back and turned to look at the Warden. -Solas found something.

Leaving Maddox's body there until some of their soldiers could come to pick him up, they followed Blackwall to the next room, where all the group were leaning over a weathered table filled with handmade tools, forgotten pieces of armory, and a load of papers. They had passed by this room on their way to Maddox, but they hadn't looked beyond the enemies ahead. Now, Evelyn saw a burning bedroll in the corner next to two more tables filled with essential things: pots, water pitchers, covers, books, candles, and writing materials. This must have been Maddox's room.

-The fire couldn't destroy these entirely. Whatever they are.

Solas was the one that answered Cullen, explaining to all of them why this discovery was important.

-They are implements for working with lyrium safely.- The elf took one in his hand and turned it to look at it from every possible angle. -The craftsmanship is remarkable.

This time it was the Commander who shed some light over the mystery of the tools.

-Tranquil often design their own tools. Dagna should be able to make sense of them,- he reasoned while gathering them all and putting them in his bag.- If Maddox used this to make Samson's armor, she could use them to unmake it.- And then, almost whispering, he added, -We have him.

After that, they all agreed that they had pushed their luck by staying in the dilapidated and half burning building for far too long and, hoping their soldiers could come back to recover Maddox's body safely, they began to walk to the main gate.

The next room was deserted, only the corpses of the many templars they had killed on their way waiting for them, silently witnessing how part of Samson's empire was already crumbling, simply by the knowledge they carried in the evidence they had gathered.

In retrospect, perhaps that knowledge, that drunken feeling of power and relief that had filled them all at knowing they might have been carrying the harbinger of Samson's doom, might have been what made them so reckless in the moment.

But after it happened, no reasoning had offered any semblance of comfort, nor a means to stifle Evelyn's tears, for the moment Cullen stepped out of the main building with the rest of them shortly behind him, a lone Red Templar attacked.

For the small second that it lasted, Evelyn's world stopped and crashed, her body responding even before she could fully digest the scene playing out before her, making her scream his name and rush toward him, her hand in the air subconsciously calling out to the anchor until she tore open a rift in the Fade, her daggers somehow already in her hands.

As soon as the rift opened, it began to suck away the life of the enemy, but it was Evey who severed it, burying her daggers in the man's chest even as he was falling to the floor.

The only problem was that as the man fell, so did Cullen.


	52. Chapter 52

**Only one note this time. There are some families (in my experience they are usually Italian) that believe that if you get the bay leaf when eating something with it, that means you are going to get married. You'll know why I'm mentioning this by the end of this chapter.**

 **oOo**

Chapter 52: Raw Feelings

-Secure the area! Someone get a health potion!

Evelyn was frantic, falling on her knees beside Cullen before the red templar could take his last breath. She didn't bother to close the rift, allowing it to consume the stored energy from the anchor until it fell dormant and sealed the rift without her intervention.

-Cullen! Cullen, can you hear me?- She was snaking her arm behind his back, trying to get him to a sitting position while desperately searching for the wound, the cracking and screaming of the rift above them preventing her from hearing anything around her, including what she was begging Cullen to answer. Feeling she had waited for too long already, she suddenly raised her head, looking around frantically.

-Where are those potions?!

It had only been less than a couple of seconds, but to her, the moment he stepped out into the courtyard, was ambushed, fell to the floor, and looked at her while she cradled his body, all felt like an eternity.

-Evey, I'm fine; it was nothing, I...- he tried to get up under his own power, but when he bent his left knee to push himself upright, he felt a gush of blood pour down from under his cloak, now covering the left side of his body, followed closely by a burning pain, making him lose footing and causing another searing pang to crawl up his thigh into his stomach.

Evelyn was already there to catch, though he hadn't yet raised himself off the floor more than a couple of inches.

-Where did it get you?- She ran her hands down his neck and over every section of his body the armor left exposed, searching desperately for the wound. -Where...- She reached his thigh and he flinched, hissing through clenched teeth.

Carefully, she moved his cloak to check his leg, and when she pulled her hand back, it came away red, a river of blood falling to the floor below him nonstop.

-Somebody get potions!- She yelled again, unable to move her eyes from the bleeding gush on his upper thigh. Absently, she listened as Cullen tried to reassure her, minimizing the severity of the situation and telling her it was nothing to worry about, even now trying to protect her as he was bleeding out on the floor.

Pointlessly, she hurriedly rummaged through her bag for potions, fully aware that she had given Blackwall her last one when three templars had surrounded him earlier, but she still tried in vain, hoping that by some marvel she had missed one, or that the Maker had caused another to miraculously appear. None of that happened, though, and with each second, the puddle of blood below him spread.

-We're out, Inquisitor,- came Solas' calm voice from her side, the others searching the area for more hidden enemies. He squatted down next to Cullen and grabbed both sides of the sliced hole in his trousers, tearing the fabric further to view the gash more clearly. -I need to check on the wound before closing it, make sure there's no red lyrium inside, but I cannot do so while it's bleeding.- He pointed toward her. -Tie your sash at the inguinal region. Make it tight.

She did as she was told, clenching her teeth when Cullen couldn't help but hiss from the pain. Then, knowing she couldn't do anything to help the elf, she leaned over the Commander, who was now lying on the floor, and held his hand tightly while Solas poured water over the wound and began inspecting it.

-Don't worry, you'll be alright. I'm here with you,- her voice cracked, her mind praying to every known god, Andrastian and not, to keep him safe.

Cullen turned his head and looked at her to smile through the pain, squeezing the hand she was holding each time Solas poured more water into the wound, which was still bleeding, albeit slowing down. She smiled back, trying to be reassuring even as her brow furrowed each time he clenched his hand, almost as if she could feel his pain. Seeing this, Cullen raised his hand and smoothed the crease in her forehead, resting his own against hers when it didn't work.

She was beginning to calm down, concentrating on his breathing and his eyes that never left hers, when his expression turned glossy and his hand dropped heavily in hers, fingers losing all grip and body relaxing completely.

If it weren't for Solas, she would have panicked the moment Cullen's eyes closed.

-I sent him to sleep to spare him the suffering. I need to search deeper and the process would have been too painful otherwise.- Then, before she could thank him, he opened the wound by tugging it from the sides with his fingers, exposing the severed tissue and searching exhaustively for several minutes until he was certain there was no red lyrium left behind.

From over their shoulders, three pairs of footsteps approached, Blackwall announcing the area was secure. For some time, silence reigned, interrupted only by the sound of Solas' bloodied hands examining the wound, Cullen's quiet groans when the elf got too close to a nerve in his search for red lyrium contamination, and Evelyn's hushed voice, softly mumbling unintelligible nothings while she caressed Cullen's hair lovingly.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Solas spoke.

-It's clean,- he said to no one in particular, and Evelyn raised her face, smiling gratefully. If her gratitude was directed to her friend, the gods, or both, no one could say, and no one cared.

Then, as calmly as ever, Solas looked at the others.

-Varric, I believe there's still a regeneration potion left...

He didn't need to finish the sentence, the dwarf collecting the requested potion and giving it to him faster than any of them would have thought his short legs could move.

-Madame de Fer, if you could lend me a hand, there's a thread and needle in my bag.- Without checking to see if the mage was complying with his request, he once again turned to Evey.

-We only have one potion, so we cannot waste it,- he said, showing her the tiny vial. -I'll need to wake him up briefly to make sure he drinks it all, but even with it, the wound is too deep to close completely on its own. I'll have to sew it. I will lull him back to sleep as soon as I can, but he'll still be in a great deal of pain, especially when the inner tissue begins to heal. I'll need you to stop him from thrashing, Inquisitor, no matter what.

She nodded, and though everyone could see how much she was anguishing, there was a determination in her eyes that would have made Cullen proud.

-Blackwall, Vivienne, get the horses. We'll need to help him ride.- She then turned to the dwarf, who was still standing next to Solas. -Varric, help me out here.

Finally, she took the potion from Solas' hands, uncorked it, and signaled for the elf to begin.

oOo

When Solas woke him up five hours later once they reached camp, Cullen's mind was in shambles.

He remembered he had been stabbed, that Evelyn had rushed to help him, had opened a rift in the sky and had almost demanded the other's assistance. He remembered he had tried to ease her mind, to comfort her, to reassure her that everything was alright.

He remembered it felt as if he were lying to her.

Cullen was a consummated soldier, and as such, he had fought enough battles to recognize when a wound was nothing of concern and when things had turned out less than fortunate. The red templar had stabbed him in the leg, but he had felt how the red lyrium blade had entered almost as far as to reach the other side. He had recognized the telltale warmth of his blood pouring out of him, and the pinpricks in his chest from a heart desperate to pump blood through his body, compensating for what he was losing at an alarming rate. He had felt the red lyrium burning in his flesh as the blade entered, twisted inside, and exited, in the hopes of severing a vital vein that would irremediably send him to his death in a matter of seconds.

But when she had knelt next to him, he had ignored the pain and focused only on her, whispering reassurances, at first confident that this would be only another scar in a few weeks, but then feeling how his body refused to keep him conscious and praying to the Maker that he would not part from this world having lied to her.

Now he sat by the fire having dinner with everyone after Solas woke him up again, and he understood what that feeling of falling into oblivion had been. He should have known; he had been struck by a sleep spell before, but in that moment, he had feared he would die, and for the first time in his life, he realized death was no longer something that didn't concern him. He wanted to live, he wanted to see this through, to be able to leave this fight behind and explore what he had found at her side, hoping against all odds, that it would lead to a life together.

Strangely enough, he was grateful for what happened, because as dinner was served, he felt her hand reaching for his, their fingers interlacing, not exactly in full view of everyone but not hiding it either. They were sitting in the dirt, she with her legs crossed and he keeping the wounded one stretched to avoid unnecessary pressure on the healing flesh. Their hands rested between their legs, and it wasn't that difficult to see how they had found each other in the night, as if with that simple contact, they could reassure one another that they were together and safe again.

In other circumstances, some or all their companions would have teased them incessantly for that open display of affection, but what they all had endured in the Shrine apparently altered their perspectives to ones of comprehension and complicity. In fact, both Cullen and Evey felt their companions' eyes resting in turns over their joined hands, but they had either smiled candidly, or just turned to face another way, as if nothing of consequence was happening.

And, thinking clearly, perhaps they were not surprised at all. Andraste knew they had tried to be subtle, but even their first kiss so long ago in the battlements had eventually been on everyone's minds, despite that it was short lived. Sebastian's arrival had turned the rumor into nothing beyond gossip without credibility, each day making it resemble more of a fable than a plausible possibility, thanks to what seemed like a blossoming relationship between the Herald and the Prince.

But now they knew, and in that moment, Cullen didn't care what they would do with that information once they reached Skyhold.

-How are you feeling, Commander?- Vivienne's voice broke the silence. -The new healing potion won't be ready until tomorrow morning, but we've been resting for hours now, so I presume Solas shall heal you before you retire for the night.

Leave it to Vivienne to distribute chores without even consulting with the receivers of said tasks. At least this time she had the decency of looking at Solas, as if asking for his confirmation. The elf, as it was expected, nodded his agreement. After all, he had promised on their way back to camp, while Cullen still laid unconscious, that he would heal him as soon as his mana felt replenished once again.

-The wound doesn't bother me that much now, thank you for asking.

Evey's hand squeezed his.

-You missed being nicked in the femoral artery by half an inch, Commander,- stated Solas in a clinical, almost detached tone, completely in contrast with Varric's enthusiasm a second later.

-Hey! Curly's our new good luck charm!

Evey rolled her eyes and was about to argue with Varric's logic when Blackwall beat her to it.

-How lucky can he be?! He was stabbed in the leg!

-Well, I think he's luckier than any of us, now.- And he threw a short but significant look at Cullen and Evey's hands, only to then morph his face to one of complete innocence. -I mean, did you hear Chuckles, here? He could be dead.

-Or _we_ could, if he had not gone out first,- Vivienne calmly added.

-My point exactly.

-I know dear, I was merely illustrating it.

Vivienne sounded, as always, proper but smug, but her eyes shone differently, as if there was something brewing inside that head of hers, a look that was too much like the one she'd had when Sera found the snake in her tent. Sadly, the veiled warning from the Enchanter went unnoticed by Cullen and Blackwall, the only two men present who would have recognized the look from when they were traveling to the Western Approach.

In that moment, Solas took something out of his mouth, grimacing.

-Varric… did you put peanuts in the stew?

-Hey! Look at that! So Chuckles is the one getting married. I would have thought our Inquisitor would get it!

He wiggled his eyebrows toward Evey, but not even then did her grip on Cullen's hand fail. Instead she just smiled at him, nonplussed.

-And here I thought _you'd_ be the first to get married. It's about time you made an honest crossbow out of Bianca.

Everyone but Vivienne began to laugh in some measure at that, their voices raising from the guffaws of Blackwall, to the subtle chuckle from Solas, the warden's bowl falling from his legs when he stomped the ground. Varric, being the good sport that he was, joined in and soon they were all feeling the exhaustion left on their shoulders from the emotional day behind them.

Vivienne and Solas, whom had silently chose to share a tent after they saw Evelyn's reaction to Cullen's wound, were the first to take watch, and as such the only ones that remained once everyone had retired shortly thereafter, but not before they helped the elf and the Enchanter build a small refuge between two trees, where they could sit under a waxed tarp to shelter from the rain that the storm clouds above them portended. And it wasn't a moment too soon, for only a minute after everyone else retired, both mages began to feel the first pattering sounds of rain drops falling over the tarp.

That same hypnotic rhythm that was lulling Blackwall to the Fade and Varric to his blissful dreamless night, was also accompanying Cullen and Evey while they prepared to sleep. Solas had just left them after healing Cullen's wound once again and loosely bandaging it to allow him some movement during the night. In consequence, Cullen was now dressed only in a clean shirt and undergarments, folding his clothes and piling his armor in a corner to prevent it from being a nuisance during the night. By the time he finished and turned toward her, she was also dressed for the night in a thin shirt and underwear, though he could perfectly see she had removed her breast band thanks to the slightly transparent fabric.

Almost immediately his heart began to pound, just as it usually did when they were alone, its beating practically forcing him closer to her until his lips touched the naked skin where her shirt had fallen, leaving her upper shoulder exposed along with part of her back. Her response was instantaneous, bending her neck to the right, allowing him more room to roam freely to the column of her neck, until he was nuzzling behind her ear. His hand raised to her upper arm, holding her tight as if with that he could rein in his faltering self control, whilst her own hand rose to hold him at the back of his neck, preventing him from moving away, something that had never crossed his mind once in that moment. In fact, when her fingers touched the short hairs at the nape of his neck, his whole body responded, growing nearer to her, his chest pressing against her back, his pelvis touching her bottom, one of his legs draping around her, the other one (the wounded one) stretching at her side. It didn't take long before his left hand enveloped her waist until it reached her right side, all her frame surrounded by his strong arm, making her moan his name softly, barely a whisper above the pattering sounds of the rain that grew with each second, but that reached him nevertheless, traveling the short distance from her lips to his ears, filling him with a warmth and a hunger that was quickly invading him, making him forget about the fear, about the pain and the suffering, about the responsibilities and the world beyond the tent, for she was in his arms, and nothing could mean more than the feeling of her slowly surrendering to his kisses.

Before either could even think about it, she was lying on her back with him resting on his side next to her, his lips engaged in more passionate explorations, roaming lower to her clavicle, while hers chanted unintelligible things that from time to time sounded just like his name.

Somewhere in his mind a voice told him that he shouldn't be pushing things, that he should stop and take comfort in the fact that they were together, safe. But when one of her hands snaked below the open neck of his shirt and the other did the same from below, both beginning to explore his back avidly and pressing his body against hers while feeling ever muscle contracting and relaxing as his mouth traveled to her neck and back down, following the shape of her shoulders, kissing every part of her skin that had been exposed by their movements but nothing beyond, he could not help but raise his own hand, still resting on her waist, until his fingers grazed the contour of her right breast over her shirt, not quite reaching but teasing it with his proximity, his other hand still caressing her neck softly while his arm held his weight away from her body.

Her right hand then abandoned its explorations, and rose to where his still rested close to her breast. For the split of a second, Cullen thought he had gone too far, and that she was about to stop him from taking things any further, so he reluctantly retreated from the passionate kiss his wandering lips had initiated just a second ago and looked at her, searching for any signs of discomfort or doubt. But instead of holding his advances, of telling him they should stop, she raised her head, her mouth chasing his even as her hand led his to finally rest over her breast.

After that, Cullen felt his whole world spin and, resting just enough of his weight over part of her body, he began to caress her while he kissed her more passionately than he had ever done before, inwardly thanking the Maker that the rain outside, now a full storm, was hiding the delicious sounds she was making from any ears save his own.

Her hand, now free to roam, resumed her explorations, lifting the left side of his shirt up nearly to his arm, only to lower it again, taking a turn to his taut stomach and getting dangerously close to where he needed her most, eliciting the most erotic and primal sound from his lips, one that, while his mouth was busy kissing her neck, sounded like a mixture between a moan and a growl that lit her body completely and irrevocably.

Now her leg had snaked between his, pressing up against him, and his moved to do the same, his body growing closer to her, positioning himself over her lying form, about to press down on her and feel every single inch of her body touching his.

It was in that moment, though, that his wound complained, blood pouring out of it even through the stitches, the strain in his leg opening newly formed tissue and staining the bandages. A sharp stab of pain traveled up his thigh, lighting his nerves with another, less pleasurable feeling that quickly replaced the desire she had stirred. Unfortunately, he faltered, falling on his side and away from her.

-I'm sorry. Are you alright? Let me see it.

In less time than it took him to lay at her side, Evelyn had already sat up and was inspecting Cullen's bandages. When she saw the white linen was now red, she cringed.

-Oh, Cullen, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have...

He caught her hand before she could unravel his bandages, and kissed it.

-My fault. I put too much weight on it, but it barely bled.- Her eyes were still focusing on his leg with a guilty look, so Cullen took her chin with his other hand and lifted her head until she looked at him. -I'm not sorry it happened, and neither should you be.

When she was unable to say anything else, he kissed her again, softly at first, but gradually taking them down the same path they had abandoned just a moment ago. It was only when Cullen's mouth left hers and began to wander to her neck that she pushed him back.

-Cullen, your leg,- she warned.

For a second, Cullen almost dropped his eyes down to see what she meant, his mind already too far gone to even care about the wound, but then he chuckled and pressed his forehead against her naked shoulder, sighing.

-You're right,- he admitted, his lips caressing her skin with each word. -We should sleep.- He raised his head to look at her, his left hand caressing her neck now.

Evey, in turn, placed her hand over his knee and smiled.

-Do you mind if we switch places?- He raised his eyebrow questioningly. -I don't want to hurt you while I'm sleeping if I get too close.

She left out that she didn't want to be unable to get close, which would have been another solution, but they both understood the underlying meaning of her request. So, taking her by the waist, and without really caring if she kicked him in the leg while in the air, Cullen lifted her and placed her on his right, immediately taking her with him when he laid down.

Evey laughed at the sudden reaction, but when they were both lying down, she moved closer, placing her head over his chest, hearing his heart beating below her ear, and hugged his waist like she had suddenly feared he would disappear.

At first, Cullen thought she was just getting ready to sleep, but when he heard her breathing falter, he tried to draw her away to look at her, finding she refused vehemently to let him go even for the short amount of time that it took to raise her head and look at him.

-Evey, what is it, my sweet?

Her hands only tightened around his body and her back shook in the convulsions of a telltale rhythm. She was trying not to cry out loud.

Knowing this had been an emotional day for both of them, he kept quiet, softly caressing her back up and down, trying to sooth her.

-I was so afraid... I thought…

-Shhh…- This time, she allowed him to tilt her head up, so he softly kissed her lips, his eyes showing all the things he was not ready to voice yet. -I know, I was afraid too.- He didn't tell her his fear laid mainly in the idea of losing the chance to build a life together, of never seeing her again. -But I'm here now. I'm with you.

The fact that those words were almost identical to what she had whispered to him after finding him battling with his withdrawal on the floor of his bedroom, made Cullen feel at peace. She had taken care of him when he most needed her, when his fears and doubts had plagued him, and even though he had done the same for her after Adamant, somehow this time felt different. This was not the Inquisitor doubting her competence in the field. This was Evey trying to dispel the fear of losing someone dear to her, and by some miracle which could only be a product of the Maker Himself, that dear person was none other than him.

Slowly, between kisses and soft whisperings, sleep claimed them both, putting all the world on hold, if only for that night.

oOo

Sadly, the world was waiting for them the next morning, nervously tapping its feet on the floor and ready to throw in their faces all the things they had put aside last night.

As expected, the healing potion was ready when they woke up early in the morning, the first sunrays slipping through tiny holes in the old tarp.

The hour, though, surprised both Cullen and Evey when they realized nobody had awakened them to take their places on guard shift. Apparently, their companions had decided that the Commander would benefit from an uninterrupted night of sleep, and though nobody eluded to the fact that Evelyn had also been spared from the duty, their looks spoke volumes. After all, considering what had happened the day before, to expect that none of their companions had noticed how close Evelyn and Cullen had become would resemble hoping that someone in Thedas had not seen the giant green hole in the sky.

Still, nobody, not even Varric uttered a word, most of them apparently more interested in how Cullen's wound was faring than anything else, though eventually Evey noticed a special glint in the dwarf's eyes which warned her that, not far from then, she and Cullen would be the incessant target of endless teasing.

Yet that morning, both Blackwall and Varric had something else to worry about, for the moment Solas announced Cullen's leg was almost healed, save for a lingering discomfort that would soon disappear, the Warden and the storyteller began to feel something crawling under their skin, only to run toward the creek a second later, throwing pieces of armor as they went, screaming that something was very wrong.

It was Vivienne's tilting laugh and malicious look which told them that whatever was ailing them had nothing to do with their surroundings, and all to do with cold, delightful vengeance. The running duo, though, only realized what was happening when Madame de Fer's suggestion reached them:

-Perhaps some peanut ointment might help?

Save for that unexpected, yet extremely amusing episode, the rest of the journey was uneventful, the weight of their responsibilities falling progressively over them with each new camp they broke where their soldiers were eagerly waiting both to begin their journey back home, and to deliver the reports and news they had been receiving from Skyhold since the last time they saw the Commander and the Inquisitor.

But the real burden came when they entered the fortress. At first, everything was normal: the guard blew the horn when they were in sight, and some soldiers and stable boys waited for them to help with everything they might need. As usual, Vivienne dismounted and graciously walked inside, already savoring the idea of a lengthy scented bath and a hot meal in the privacy of her new quarters, while Varric and Blackwall went directly to Herald's Rest to share a few drinks and probably plan their next move in the war that Madame de Fer had declared with her rash spell. Evey walked with Cullen to the stables, the Commander following her with the excuse of looking after his horse to try to steal another moment with her before their duties separated them again. Sadly, it didn't take long. They had barely unsaddled their mounts when Cullen's courier entered the stables asking for the Commander, leaving him no other choice but to bid the Inquisitor farewell, but not without sending her a meaningful look that promised he would do the impossible to find a moment to be alone with her before the day ended.

Not fifteen minutes later, Evelyn left the stables following Cole's desperate voice. The spirit was chasing Solas down the main stairs, stopping in the courtyard, begging the mage to bind him to protect him from the possibility of Corypheus using him against his friends, as he had done with the Wardens in Adamant. Later, Solas would tell her that this obsession was sadly not new. Apparently, the spirit had dwelled on this ever since they had returned from the Western Approach, the bone chilling possibility of betrayal against his will keeping the poor boy constantly on edge. Naively, Solas had thought he could persuade the spirit, denying him his request while trying to calm his worries, telling him the chance of losing himself to the binding was more pressing than the slight possibility of Corypheus using him to harm the Inquisition. In fact, all were in danger of being controlled by the magister. The Wardens were not spirits of the Fade, and that had not stopped the darkspawn from using them. Chances were that Corypheus wouldn't use the same old trick after just how well the Battle of the Approach had turned out for him. Cole, though, did not feel the same, fear taking control of the spirit almost as much as he feared Corypheus would, even to the point of going to Alexius for the information that Solas had denied, hoping that by doing so he would stop the spirit from making a decision that could lead Cole to lose himself.

But no matter how much they tried, how long they stayed back to calm him down, nothing worked... Until Solas suggested Evey use the Inquisition's resources to search for an Amulet of the Unbound. That calmed Cole down, at least until they could find said talisman. However, Evelyn feared how the boy might react if it turned out that a month from now, they didn't have answers to the whereabouts of the Rivaini amulets. Still, that was a concern for later, so after she went to the rookery to ask Leliana to send urgent orders to look for the talisman, she went to her room to disappear behind the piles of reports.

The opportunity to escape came four hours later, when the sun was already hiding behind the horizon, and a knock on her door distracted her from a letter from the Grand Cleric of the Ostwick Chantry, whom wrote to personally thank her for a donation that Evey suspected her mother had sent in her name and the Inquisition's. She would probably have to write to Lady Trevelyan now; she knew better than to ignore her mother.

She called for whomever was knocking to come in, and a moment later, Cullen's courier was standing in front of her.

-Inquisitor, Commander Cullen asks if you'd be so kind as to accompany me to his office.

Evelyn schooled her face to look kind, and not at all ecstatic.

-Certainly. Just give me a moment.

After she put the letter away in her personal drawer to read it carefully later, she followed the messenger to Cullen's office, knowing he probably had news on what they had found in the Shrine, but hoping he was also summoning her for more personal reasons. They hadn't talked about what happened at the camp the last night they shared a tent, and after so many days staying away from each other to save appearances with the soldiers, she was beginning to get anxious about it. She had thought he was hoping to see her alone when he left her in the stables, but what if she had misunderstood his look? What if he had second thoughts? It hadn't looked like it that night, but that had been more than a week ago, and with time, her uncertainty was gaining ground over confidence. And she hated that.

Once they reached the office, though, all her doubts flew over the window when Cullen raised his eyes to greet her. Even in the presence of his messenger, his smile had left little doubt that he was as eager to see her as she had been. Then, almost as if he had noticed his courier standing next to her for the first time, he greeted her as he had always done, only to then let his smile fade under a new command to the soldier.

-Ah, thank you for coming Inquisitor.- Turning to the messenger, he instructed, -Please tell Dagna we are ready for her now.

The woman left the office immediately, and Cullen's smile resurfaced just as quickly as the door closed behind the soldier.

Instead of walking to her, he merely extended his hand toward her, holding it in the air for her to take and stand beside him behind the desk. When she did precisely that, he leaned slowly to kiss her lips softly.

With one week between them and their last stolen moment, it was unsurprising that the chaste kiss turned into anything but in less time than it took both hearts to speed up. When they parted, they did so harshly after a sudden gust of wind beat against the western door, which was apparently slightly ajar until then, violently closing it.

Both jumped where they stood, only to laugh nervously later when they realized even after all that happened, they were still paranoid of being discovered. For a moment, Evelyn considered breaching the subject, if anything to know whether he was expecting to stretch this secrecy for much longer. She remembered how he had asked her to keep things between them for a while after they had their first kiss, but so much had happened since then that she could not be sure if he was still of the same mind, or if something had changed for him, too. After all, she could not in good conscience judge him by his reaction just then, when she had also jumped out of her skin like a pair of adolescents stealing kisses behind the Chantry after mass... Not that she had done that... Lately.

Blushing at memories that had no place in this moment, she wavered too long before speaking, and Cullen beat her to the punch, clearing his throat before beginning to debrief her.

-I've been reading reports from all over our posts for the better part of the last four hours,- he took one of the papers and showed it to her. -The red lyrium deposits are being destroyed, and we've cut the red templars down to the core.- The excitement in his voice faltered then. -It's a pity that Maddox thought his sacrifice was the only answer.

She couldn't help it, and when she saw his eyes clouding over with the memory of the tranquil, she placed her hand over his on the desk, and he turned it to lace their fingers together, squeezing hers reassuringly before continuing to explain.

-Still, that leaves Samson with a severely curtailed army, and enchanted armor he can't maintain.- He raised his eyes to her, smiling warmly. -You did it.

-We _both_ fought to make this happen. You were even injured doing it, so stop selling yourself short.- She squeezed his hand as well, answering to the need of feeling him respond to her touch, reassuring her that he was fine now, the wound closed and the fright behind them.

-I... Thank you.- For a second, he seemed about to lean in and kiss her again, but then he lowered his eyes to the papers. -But my work's not done yet.

Softly, he disentangled their hands and searched for one document in particular.

-We're getting recruits by the hour.- When he found what he was looking for, he showed it to her and Evelyn noticed it had the Templar Order's sigil on it. -There's more than a few ex templars among them.- Then he lowered the letter and turned toward her, taking both her hands again.-We've struck a blow and given people hope,- he smiled. -This is a true victory.

He brushed the back of his hand over her cheeks, caressing her and taking a few seconds to look at her tenderly.

-I wanted to tell you something else, too, before Dagna arrives.

He paused for a short moment, one that in other circumstances, Evelyn would have allowed to pass naturally, but fearful that his courier would come back with the arcanist anytime now, she urged him on.

-Yes?

As if he needed to keep himself busy, he released her hands and took yet another report, this time without showing it to her.

-We have some dealings in Ferelden. I was hoping you might accompany me.- Then he rushed to clarify, -I know we've just come back, but I believe if we take the main road and some fast horses, it shouldn't take us more than four days.- He raised his eyes nervously. -When you can spare the time, of course.

After the confidence Cullen had shown the last time they were alone, Evey worried about this change of spirits now.

-Is something wrong?

-What,- answered Cullen raising his head as if she had asked something outlandish. -No! I...- He fidgeted with his hands, visibly agitated, then sighed and dropped them to his sides, finally looking at her directly. -I would rather explain there. If you wish to go.

The look on his face, expectantly and vulnerable, made her heart melt.

-I believe we could go tomorrow, then.

His smile almost lit the room, and his relieved sigh added to her curiosity.

-I'll make the necessary arrangements.

He had barely voiced the last word when the door opened to reveal Dagna entering in a haste, her eyes glinting more excitedly than normal while holding a red gleaming rune in her hand.

-Inquisitor, I finished it!- She briefly looked at Cullen and back to Evey again. -Oh, were you talking? Sorry.- And then, without so much as a pause to breathe, she shrugged, -Have it anyhow.

After that, she threw herself into one of her usual passionate speeches, this time about what she had managed to build with Maddox's tools and some red lyrium, and something about the rune acting on a median fissures of lyrium to do whatever she was willing to disclose before Cullen glared at her silently, warning her not to beat around the bush and cut right to the chase, sparing the Inquisitor (and himself) the subtleties of her design.

Dagna effectively ended any intention the Commander might have had of stopping her by claiming an explanation was crucial to avoiding any undesired effects that might harm the Inquisitor, or any of her companions. She managed to take Evey with her to show her how she had built the rune and, according to her, explained how she should properly handle it to obtain the best results.

An hour later, Evey left the undercroft feeling a little overwhelmed. The rune's basics were pretty simple, actually, and as she had feared, Dagna was more interested in talking about her investigation and the sources she had consulted to make the rune than in any kind of precautions she should have while handling it, even going as far as admitting she had used that excuse to "save her from an hour listening to the Commander talk about the troups" and taking her to do something more exciting. The fact that what Dagna found exciting usually made other people's head throb in pain was something that never crossed the small arcanist's mind, nor was the fact that even as she talked about some dwarf named Sandal who could make runes twice as powerful in half the time and had apparently assisted Hawke during his years in Kirkwall, Evelyn was having a hard time thinking of anything other than her and Cullen's upcoming trip to Ferelden.


	53. Chapter 53

Chapter 53: Our Luck

-Where are we?

Evelyn was trying to peek over Cullen's shoulder to the foggy lake behind them, slowly walking over a humble pier where someone had placed an intricate smelting lamp that didn't match the setting at all, especially considering it rested over a simple crate, sticking out like a sore thumb in the middle of the night. Not that she was complaining. Their surroundings were stunning: the smell in the air, the quiet night, the soft breeze blowing the leaves in the trees to lull them until they felt at peace, free, away from the tempestuous lives they lived, allowing them to breathe deeply and just enjoy the night.

For once they were completely alone, no nobles or companions, not even soldiers or guards, just them in the solitude of the night. That, apparently, had been Cullen's intention all along, for when she asked about their whereabouts, he smiled knowingly, aware that she had been curious of where he was taking her ever since leaving Skyhold.

-You walk into danger every day,- he said while still strolling toward the end of the dock, Evelyn's steps behind him. -I wanted to take you away from that.- He took her hand when she caught up with him. -If only for a moment.

Evey didn't let go of his hand when he stepped back and leaned on a wooden pillar. He looked around, his eyes distant as he reminisced in the past, a gloved thumb caressing the back of her hand.

-I grew up not far from here. This place was always quiet.

At the mention of his childhood, she felt herself smiling almost instantly. Ever since that evening in the Western Approach, they rarely talked about their families, usually too immersed in the Inquisition's problems to just stop and remember better times.

-Did you come here often?- she couldn't help but ask, the chance to learn about his childhood too tempting to let pass.

At her question, Cullen's eyes got lost in the distance. Then, just a moment later, he smiled warmly.

-I loved my siblings.- He looked at her, the scar on his mouth tightening. -But they were very loud. I would come here to clear my head.- Once again, his eyes focused ahead, beyond the fog, and he chuckled. -Of course, they always found me eventually.

She stepped closer until her left shoulder touched his right arm, like a moth attracted to the light in his eyes, or the warmth of the smile on his lips. As they grew closer, their joined hands rested next to their thighs.

-You were happy here?- she asked in the barest voice.

He then turned, smiling so warmly that it made her heart flutter. He looked down on her face, his eyes resting on her lips for a second, as if he were battling between kissing her or answering her question, until finally deciding to look into her eyes instead.

-I was.- His smile widened and his hand tightened around hers. -I still am.

His family was no longer in Honnleath, driven away by the threat of the Fifth Blight, but now she was here, and for Cullen, that was enough to make him feel even more blessed than he had in his childhood, completely happy simply because she was standing at his side.

-It's beautiful,- she said, walking away from him and near the edge of the pier while looking around, only to snort a second later. -How will you survive without a parade of messengers and war reports?- she added, turning to look at him again, the feeling of his hand holding hers still lingering on her skin.

-I should be able to last a day. Besides, I told Leliana to send word if...- He didn't get to finish.

-Cullen. You. Me. Alone.- She pointed behind her. -Pretty Lake.

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, a slight blush crawling to his cheeks.

-Right. Of course.

Silence reigned for a moment, both taking in the beauty around them, though Cullen seemed more enthralled with her, again turned standing at the pier, trying to etch the memory of this place in her mind only because it had been _his_ place when he was a child, one where he would come to look for solitude and respite. And yet, he had chosen to share it with her.

Then his eyes turned to the still waters, his mind conjuring old memories that he thought nearly lost between the years and the hardship he had lived afterwards.

-The last time I was here was the day I left for templar training.- He walked to her, and his voice growing closer made her turn in time to see how he was searching for something inside his pocket. When he found it, he opened his hand to show her a simple silver coin, Andraste's face surrounded by flames etched in its surface. -My brother gave me this.- He shrugged his shoulders. -It just happened to be in his pocket, but he said it was for luck.

He talked while contemplating the coin, as if its surface was reflecting that scene. Then he turned it in his hand, his voice soft lowered, almost as if he were afraid to scare the memory away.

-Templars are not supposed to carry such things.- He raised his eyes to her, though his brow slightly wrinkled in, even as his eyes were still warm. -Our faith should see us through.

-You broke the Order's rules?- she remarked as if she were truly scandalized. -I'm shocked,- she added with a smirk.

Cullen tried to hide his smile as best as he could while feigning offense.

-Until a year ago, I was very good at following them.- He chuckled very softly and raised an eyebrow in complicity. -Most of the time.

He then lowered his eyes to the coin, his arm outstretched and his hand open, showing it still laying in his gloved palm.

-This was the only thing I took from Ferelden that the templars didn't give me.

She smiled at that, thinking of a young Cullen, homesick in his bed in the Order, holding the coin tightly as if it could transport him closer to his beloved family, relying on it to feel at ease, to remember the ones who worried for him and loved him unconditionally. And with that, the image of herself came to mind, curled up in a bed in the Chantry whilst thinking of her own family and missing them terribly until tears poured from her eyes like rain on a stormy night, soaking her pillowcase as it took away her grief, but not her love.

With her eyes still on his coin, she didn't see his nervous smile, nor the way his eyes sparkled with something that transcended anything she might have seen in him until then.

-Humor me,- he said, offering his coin and placing it on her palm when she instinctively opened her hand to him.

He then closed her hand around it, covering it with both his own, one over her fist and the other below, his heart pounding in his chest fretfully, begging her to understand what he was trying to say with this simple act, trusting her with his most valuable possession, something that might not be a jewel, or a state, or a title, but for him meant so much more.

-We don't know what you'll face before the end.- He raised his eyes to her, his heart leaping when he saw the pure passion in her gaze. -This can't hurt.

She lowered her eyes to their joined hands, and swallowed around the lump of emotion currently closing her throat. She realized this was not just a simple lucky amulet, not like the ones people sell in stalls in the market, or fabricate out of boredom when they have too many coins to sort out and convince themselves that the one thousand and thirty two are slightly different from the one, and therefore should be considered lucky. This was what had kept Cullen going through thick and thin. Despite all the monstrosities he had faced, and all the convictions that had faltered after each episode, he had still kept this, even when his life had been anything but lucky. True, he had lived when others around him had died, surviving the most impossible tests, both to his faith in the Maker and to his sanity, and yet despite it all, he had still cherished this coin.

A voice inside her mind told her this was not just his way of keeping her safe, but also to show her he loved her. This was a way of telling her, "I love you," all without using a single word.

The mere idea seemed unbelievable, even as it sped up her heart, thinking of the implications of his silent declaration, and how desperately akin her own feelings were, how fervently she loved him back despite not being able to put it into words, either.

But then, in the short seconds that it took her to answer, she realized something else... Cullen believed that this had kept him alive all this time, or at least he believed it enough to not tempt fate and dispose of it... and in consequence, she believed in it, too, to the point where taking the gift frightened her, because it might mean leaving him vulnerable to the endless dangers they faced, making the possibility of losing him all the more real.

-I don't want your luck to run out,- she smiled, albeit insecurely, only to take out the harshness of rejecting his gift.

Cullen didn't seem to take it the wrong way, and instead closed the two short steps that separated them, growing so close to her that she could feel his breath on her lips.

-Nor do I. Not when I finally have some.- It sounded as if he was accepting to keep it, but then he tightened his grip on her hand, the coin resting inside the cocoon they had created.- But the thing is, you _are_ my luck.

Again, he was telling her so much more than what his words conveyed, his eyes speaking the volumes his lips refused to voice, and she felt something inside draw her to him, begging her to share the tenderness he had ignited in her.

-Take it, please,- he whispered, closing his eyes until she answered, almost as if he feared she would reject him after he had stripped his soul so thoroughly.

She inhaled raggedly, his proximity making her knees go weak. When she raised her eyes, he was looking at her, anxiously waiting her answer.

-I'll keep it safe.

She could see how his chest lowered when he released the breath he had been holding.

-Good. I know it's foolish but...- he released her hand, leaving the coin safe inside her fist, and pulled her closer by the waist. -I'm glad.

The last word was barely audible, his lips already anticipating the kiss so much that it dampened his voice on its way out. A kiss that would still linger in her mind and on her lips hours after it happened, when she lay awake at night in her cot, still hearing the soldiers whispering quietly while keeping guard after their Commander retired to his own tent. Alone in the night, she tried her best not to speculate about any hidden meaning concerning Cullen's coin, fearful of getting her hopes up only to then realize she had misinterpreted him too strong to allow her otherwise. And yet, her mind and heart betrayed her each time she tried to fall asleep, remembering how Cullen had looked at her, how anxious he seemed for her to take the coin, as if it meant more than he had let on… Not that the meaning he had given it had been insufficient; it had certainly made her heart beat furiously in her chest. And how he had kissed her... Maker, that had tasted like so much more that, even now, in solitude, she couldn't control the butterflies in her stomach as she remembered it.

For what felt like hours, she traced the grooves of the coin with her fingers, feeling every bump and slope, as if she wanted to commit every imperfection to memory, just as she had learned to do the same with each of Cullen's features when she looked at him, each sensation as he kissed her, every feeling he awakened when he touched her, and every tingle on her skin when she would explore him.

Then something came to her mind, and she rose from her cot, rushing to light a candle and search almost frantically in her backpack until she found a long leather strip she always carried. Carefully, almost as if it were a treasure, she took the leather and used it to frame the coin, leaving both ends to hang above Andraste's head. Then she used candle wax to secure the edge of the leather around the coin, taking special care not to mark the metal, and finally tied a knot exactly where both ends met, hanging the coin around her neck afterwards, letting it fall low on her chest. When they were back at Skyhold, she would ask Harritt to fabricate a bezel or a prong to set the coin. She didn't want to trust the task to a jeweler that could spread the word of the Inquisitor wearing a coin around her neck, and therefore set in motion hundreds of different rumors about the interpretation behind it.

Their relationship was theirs, and nobody else's. For once, she was not willing to share something with the rest of Thedas. And that included the meaning of the coin, even if the real one still eluded her as well.

oOo

When they came back to Skyhold, though, the horn and the gate guards were not the only ones there to receive them. It wasn't unusual for Josephine to be standing in the courtyard, ready to bombard her with news and requests once she arrived, but for Sera, Iron Bull and Cassandra to be standing with her was another thing entirely.

At least they had the decency to stay back and remain uncharacteristically quiet when Cullen dismounted, walked toward her horse, and reached for her waist to help her off of her own horse. They all knew Evelyn Trevelyan didn't need the help, and if they added that to the fact that when her feet touched the floor, Cullen smiled sweetly to her before saying goodbye and walking to his Lieutenant for his own debrief of what happened during his absence, her companions' impassivity about their less than subtle display of affection was even more surprising. That is, until she found out what all of them were there for.

Apparently, the men she had sent to help Sera's friends in Verchiel had worked wonderfully, but since it had been a job outside the Red Jenny, now they needed to travel to collect the reward. At first, Evelyn thought of leaving it at that, comforted by the fact that she had helped the beaten "little people" as Sera called them, especially after the gravity of Cassandra and The Iron Bull's requests, but then Josephine had told her the amount gathered as thanks for the Inquisition was substantial enough to not ignore it, and that it would benefit all of them if rumors about the Inquisitor helping even more people for free didn't spread anymore. It was one thing to help the towns affected by the rifts, even dealing with another problem in the meantime, but it was another entirely to practically sign a commitment of being the "champion of the defenseless". They had enough problems at it was, and if necessity arose, they could pass the Inquisition's troupes' presence in Verchiel as nothing more than routine drills. But word always spread, and if one added the fact that they had helped for free while already intervening in a problem that shouldn't have counted on their assistance, they were bound to find hundreds of letters filling Josephine's desk in less than a week, claiming they had the same right to be protected as the "little people" in Verchiel.

The reality was that, even as Josephine's logic could sound coldhearted and merciless, it was entirely true: they couldn't help everyone in the world, and with the rift, they had enough on their hands to occupy the Inquisition for several months already. So, to Sera's delight, she assured her they would head to Crestwood as soon as possible to collect the reward for their help.

Cassandra's request, though more serious, was entirely unsurprising. The Seeker had already informed her about the disappearances of her fellow companions, and after Bann Loren and the Inquisition soldiers that had gone to investigate had also vanished even from Leliana's most keen spies and scouts' careful eyes, Cassandra had agreed to wait the mandatory time in the hopes that they would contact them eventually. After all, they didn't want to blow their cover if they had managed to get someone inside. But now all hopes of finding them safe had dissolved with the inevitable passage of time, and she was now unwilling to wait any longer. Evey naturally agreed with her completely, so she told Cassandra they would go to Caer Oswin, taking Sera with them to make sure to deal with her request on their way to the fortress.

The Iron Bull's problem was of more delicate in nature, and it inevitably lead to three hours of unending conversation, one sided conversation that is, with Josephine, where she advised both the qunari and herself of the advantages that an alliance with the Qun could bring to the Inquisition, while at the same time schooling her about how easily she could anger them just by being her adorable self, which amused The Iron Bull terribly, teasing her with advice that scandalized Josephine, who would then proceed to explain, once again, why she could never heed the qunari's suggestion if she wanted to avoid open war with the Qun... Like she would listen to Bull while he smirked in _that_ way, but apparently, everyone _but_ Josephine could tell when the qunari was teasing someone, which led to being trapped in the Ambassador's office for more hours than she would ever have liked, to the point where Evelyn would stomp on Bull's foot whenever he tried to tease the Antivan again. She had to give credit to Josephine though: she was doing her best to assure this alliance succeeded. As for Evelyn, she told Bull she was willing to listen, but that she wouldn't decide until she gathered more information and talked to their contacts. Rushing into an alliance with the Qun could bring more problems than advantages. Surprisingly, Bull agreed, and even confessed he was not entirely comfortable with the qunari coming to where they were and getting in the middle of the Inquisition. Evelyn was more worried about how many the Qun would try to indoctrinate while their alliance lasted. She didn't want her people facing yet another religious crisis. Leliana and Josephine's insistence with maintaining the "Herald of Andraste" facade had troubled enough minds already.

The thing that really bothered her, though, was the Qun's insistence on meeting alone with her, Bull, his Chargers, and perhaps some small backup, but no army. Bull's superiors insisted it was all to not tip off the smugglers they were trying to stop, but Evelyn was not so sure, and she feared Cullen wouldn't be either.

By the time Josephine allowed her to leave her office, and she dealt with the urgent matters that were waiting for her on her desk, took a bath and answered to Harritt's call to give her the new bezel for the coin, it was almost dinnertime. Precisely because of that, she escaped to the courtyard through the lower levels, confident that, as long as supper lasted, she would be able to visit Cullen without interruptions.

In fact, as she climbed the stairs to his office, she crossed paths with several soldiers and messengers who were rushing to secure a place in the common room, barely sparing time to salute her as they ran down. In consequence, it was no surprise that when she finally entered Cullen's office, she found him alone, reading over reports.

As was his custom, he raised his head when she opened the door.

-Am I interrupting you?

She didn't need to ask. She knew that, and even if she didn't, his smile and how he stood as soon as she saw her, would have let her know how delighted he was at her presence.

-Not at all! In fact, I wanted to talk to you.- He didn't give her time to say anything, closing the distance between them in four long strides and taking her hand as he led her to his desk. -Bull came earlier to speak to me. Please tell me you're not going to accept the Qun's demands.

-I'm afraid I am.- Her face, however, showed him how much she liked the idea.

-You can't!- He released her hand in favor of pacing. -I know you trust Bull, and I'm inclined to agree with you, but that should not, _cannot_ , be extendible to the Qun.- He turned and saw she was looking at him sympathetically.

-Cullen, Josie is right: we can't let our prejudice blind us from...- He didn't let her finish, probably because not even she sounded convinced.

-It's not prejudice!- He walked toward her so quickly that for a second, she thought he was going to crash against her, but he stopped just in time, taking her by the forearms instead. -I've seen what they can do; I was there when they attacked Kirkwall. They waited for years to implement their revenge, and then they decapitated the viscount!- He looked at her almost with desperation. -They don't waste time going for the soldiers. They kill the leader, pluck the resistance from its roots!

He stopped for a second, as if gathering breath to keep going, so she rushed to raise her hands to his face, forcing him to look at her.

-They won't kill me. Without me, Corypheus wins, and not even the Qun think itself above his power. I'm not saying I trust them, but I have no other choice but to accept their request.- He opened his mouth to counter, but she didn't let him talk. -But I won't play by their rules, either. We'll send word to the Hessarians first thing in the morning before we leave Skyhold, and I'll take a small group of soldiers as backup just in case. I trust you to choose them.

Cullen shook his head in frustration before finally deciding to look toward the southern door. It was evident that he was not satisfied, even when the extra help she had procured made his breath lighten. Still, the images of the dead in Kirkwall haunted him, the countless bodies displayed in the streets, laying where the qunari had killed them, forgotten by their attackers as if they had been nothing but a momentary nuisance.

He closed his eyes tightly for a couple of seconds, trying to dispel the images in his mind. Before he could open them again, he felt her lips brushing his. He barely had time to answer to her peck before she talked again.

-I'll be fine, I promise.

He looked back at her, his concern there for her to see.

-Let me go with you.

She was shaking her head before he could finish the sentence.

-We can't risk their distrust. They specifically asked for me and the Chargers, and will only accept a few soldiers. They can't see you there.

His hand rose to his neck, rubbing it furiously, trying to calm his exasperation.

Once again, she whispered.

-I'll be fine. Besides...

Then she began to open the first buttons of her jacket, and Cullen's mind battled between his concern and the fact that, out of nowhere, she was apparently deciding to undress in front of him, in the middle of his office, where anyone could walk in at any minute.

Sweet Maker, she was undoing the second one now, the fabric opening the way to her creamy skin, and Cullen's hand automatically rested on her waist. Deep down, he wondered if this was some new strategy to make him compliant with whatever she wanted, to make him agree to anything whenever she felt like it just by cutting his brain's blood supply by showing him her body, tempting him.

 _Was that it?_

She finished with her second button and went to undo the third.

 _Andraste preserve me I don't care anymore!_

Then, almost at the same time he was raising one of his hands to her open collar, his body responding to the burning need to touch her skin, she tugged at a silver chain that Cullen had not noticed until then, which disappeared below the remaining closed buttons and pushed the pendant out.

Cullen sucked air through his teeth when she rested his coin in the hand that was now almost at the edge of her open collar

-...I have luck on my side.

It took him a couple of seconds to realize she had finished the sentence she had begun before opening her jacket, but when he did, he raised his eyes to hers, his hand still holding his coin in his fist, and he crashed his mouth against hers.

The kiss was filled with his worry, his passion and the dizzying intoxication of seeing her wearing his coin, the token of his affection that he had feared would end up in a drawer out of her fear of losing it. But instead of that, she had set it in a bezel and hung it from her neck, where it rested safely on her breastbone, her heart pounding close to it as certainly as her love for Cullen did. And that made the Commander lose all perception of the world around him, marveling at how it made him feel to see her wearing something of his. It didn't even matter that she wore it below her clothes. In fact, that made it even better, for she now carried him close to her, almost as if she was wary of sharing him with someone else.

By the time they pulled back, they were both breathing heavily, foreheads together, sharing the same breath as they tried to compensate their lungs for the exertion. Then, Cullen chuckled.

-I've not forgotten our discussion.

-I'm willing to, if you kiss me like that again.

Cullen didn't waste another second to oblige, even as he knew she was not going to forget a thing. But at least she wouldn't forget his lips either…


	54. Chapter 54

**Sorry for the short chapter, but my father underwent surgery this week (nothing big, just a hernia), so I didn't have as much time as I usually do during the week.**

 **oOo**

Chapter 54: Meeting With Our Past.

The plan was simple: travel to Crestwood where they would claim the reward from Sera's friends, then north to The Storm Coast to cement an alliance with the Qunari, and culminate the journey heading southeast to Caer Ostwin in search of the missing Seekers. Save for the last stop, Evelyn was confident that things would turn out just fine, which was perhaps too optimistic, considering they were trying to deal with the Qun, but she trusted Bull enough to know that, even if they didn't achieve an alliance, they would part peacefully. Cassandra's request, though, occupied her mind constantly, fearing both a good or bad outcome, the former because of what might accompany the Seekers' seclusion and secrecy, and the latter for obvious reasons. Cassandra already blamed herself for too many things to then add the collapse of her own Order. As for their reasons for visiting Crestwood, she didn't spare a second thinking about it. It was almost a business transaction, or rather, it was _precisely_ that, and as such should not bring them any trouble at all. Not when they were more than capable of defending themselves in case some wandering thieves spied on them while they collected their reward and decided they were the perfect marks.

Once again, she was never surprised at how wrong she could be.

First that despicable Lord Pel Harmond had ambushed them, using the supposed payment to lured them into his trap. It was almost funny that he'd thought he could succeed while hiring just three mercenaries. It was true that he had only been waiting for Sera, but even in that situation, the elf would have been the one standing victorious, and Harmond would probably meet his end one moment later, so the man should be grateful that Evey had been there to stop her friend's hand and requisition his lands and title and not his life, as the elf had wanted to. There was a certain ironic justice in demoting the man to a common recruiter after he, according to him, had been so important, and Sera had been more than delighted for the outcome, even if she still felt her hand tingling with the desire to kill him. Still, the Inquisitor had made sure to explain to Sera that she had been partially responsible for the deaths of the little people by exposing them to the danger of the nobles' retaliation, and even when she had dropped the issue, not wanting to fight with her friend (which had made the elf grateful yet again), she had felt the need to tell Sera to avoid things like that again in the future.

Then, her second big mistake had been to think an alliance with the Qun would, at least at first, come at a normal cost. The Qun's plan involved one of their dreadnoughts, which they would use to sink the Venatori's latest shipment of red lyrium, striking a significant blow to their forces, preventing them from both posing a threat to the north and gathering forces to attack the Inquisition once they'd secured their position in Seheron. In her opinion, it seemed farfetched to think the Venatori would take such a turn just to travel south again to attack the Inquisition after Maker knew how long. She doubted Corypheus would be _that_ patient. Still, she couldn't deny an alliance with Qunari forces would benefit them, even if their excuse to bring the subject up was less than convincing.

So, after a few short words with Bull's friend Gatt, they split into two groups and left the Chargers to deal with one Venatori camp, while they took care of the other along with Gatt. It all seemed to be going fine until the dreadnought sunk the Venatori vessel. Apparently, some agents of the Venatori had been hiding, and decided that was the perfect moment to attack the Chargers, leaving the Inquisition and the others with a difficult decision to make. There was no way they could run to the other vantage point to help the Chargers in time, and from where they were, not even the fastest arrow could reach the attackers, not without the aid of magic at least. And even then, she wasn't sure it would have worked, not that it mattered, considering that for the first time since being named Inquisitor, she had decided to travel without a mage.

The sound of Bull's horn, the explosion of the dreadnought, and Gatt's accusatory glance marked the end of an alliance that had yet to be cemented, along with The Iron Bull's official expulsion from the Qun, turning him into the very thing he had combated all his life: a _Tal-Vashoth_.

After that, things didn't get any easier, and not because of the Qun taking retaliatory measures, but rather because Cassandra would also find something that would change her life, just as Bull's had been altered: losing what gave her certainty.

Things hadn't looked good from the very beginning, when they found out the Order of Fiery Promise, the Seekers' biggest enemies, were involved, and it only got worse after they read Samson's letter reporting the Seekers' resistance to Red Lyrium. Still that last news was exactly what kept Cassandra optimist, for even if her companions had been captured, their innate resistance could be the key to save them, both from Samson's grasp and from the consequences of having been exposed to the substance.

If only they had been so lucky.

In the end, it turned out the Seekers were only resistant to Red Lyrium when in proximity to it, but could still be infected by it, and though they didn't encounter any of Cassandra's companions suffering from it, they ended up finding something far worse. Daniel, Cassandra's apprentice, harbored a demon inside, but not from direct possession. Apparently, they had fed the poor man something that had allowed a demon to grow inside him, though what that "something" was would forever remain a mystery, considering that by the time they found Daniel, he was suffering so much that he'd begged for the mercy of Cassandra's blade.

Evelyn had never seen Cassandra so heartbroken, nor so determined as to reject any utterance of compassion, focusing instead on finding Lord Seeker Lucius, first because she thought he was as trapped as the others were, and then, after Daniel told her that he had betrayed them all, to make him pay for every Seeker that had been tortured and killed as a result of his thirst for power.

Now, as they rode back via the Imperial Highway, Cassandra was constantly looking forward, her back straight as if trying to shoulder the emotional weight of the Lord Seeker's tome, where all of Lucius' predecessors had written the Order's secrets throughout the generations to pass the knowledge of their power and story from Lord Seeker to Lord Seeker, keeping it safe but fresh in her memory with the hope of helping the Order survive and not making the same mistakes again. All along the road from Caer Ostwin to Calenhad, Cassandra hadn't opened the book once, though she had contemplated its cover for what felt like hours whenever they stopped to rest, silently eating while memorizing every mark of its design, almost as if she feared what awaited her in its pages.

Bull was in no better shape, even though he was trying his best to act as natural as possible, teasing the Chargers and joking with Sera as he had always done. But his eye told another story. From time to time, Evey could distinguish a glint of uncertainty, as if the giant was not entirely sure what to do with his life now that the Qun didn't rule over it. Though she had never lived under quite that level of authority, Evelyn could understand. For the first time, he was free to do what he wanted, and that same freedom made him feel lost, a world of possibilities at his feet, but all of them leading to a life without the support and structure the Qun had granted him since birth. It was probably unnerving, and likely the reason she occasionally found Bull staring at the horizon in silence, likely contemplating his new designation as _Tal-Vashoth_.

It was in that same spirit that her companions found them that very same night, camping right outside Calenhad, all of them silently agreeing to sleep in the wilds instead of renting a couple of rooms in the local tavern, avoiding thusly the unnecessary ruckus of finding out the Inquisitor was in the village.

-Who's there? Better come out, pisshead!- Sera said in the middle of dinner, aiming at what seemed to be nothing but complete darkness.

Most of them stood up, holding their weapons in alarm, when Bull signaled them to stand down, already smiling with a grin that usually came with the phrase, "Ben-Hassrath, remember?" This time though, his lips parted to explain the intruder was not an enemy, and that he already knew they had been spotted just a second before Sera, when apparently he realized once again that he no longer belonged to the Qun, and just sat in silence, allowing the intruders to explain for themselves.

-Relax, buttercup; it's just us.

Shortly after his voice reached them, Varric's body followed, along with Solas, and just after them, the black smoke that accompanied Cole's appearance.

The spirit seemed torn, and made himself visible exactly halfway from Cassandra and Bull, as if he were not sure who to help first, ignoring the myriad of insults Sera dedicated to him when he'd startled her by appearing out of thin air, focused instead on his grieving friends, mumbling quietly until Solas reached for him to calm him.

-What are you doing here?- asked the Inquisitor, looking at the spirit and the elf, only to then turn toward the dwarf that was already dishing himself some of their meal. -Aren't you getting a little too comfortable, Varric?

-I better be. We have a big journey ahead,- he simply answered, sitting with the Chargers and immediately taking his deck of cards out of his pocket while looking at Bull's mercenaries. -Who's up for a little game of Wicked Grace?

After Krem, Stitches and Rocky joined him, already placing their bets before Varric had even dealt them in, Evelyn realized she wouldn't get anything out of the author unless she either asked him to tell her a bedtime story, or muscled her way into their game. Instead, she then turned to Solas, who was coincidentally situating himself next to her, while Cole was carefully approaching The Iron Bull.

-We thought it best to intercept you and save you the trouble of coming back to Skyhold only to depart shortly thereafter,- Solas began to explain. -Sister Nightingale found one of the Rivaini amulets Cole needed, but it did not work.

Evey was not surprised.

-It never _just_ works.

Solas nodded sadly.

-I had hope that it would, but there's something interfering with the enchantment.- Then he glanced up at the group playing cards. -Varric says it is Cole's new nature, that he is too human for it to work. I have another theory.

-Which is?

He didn't get to answer, for Cole appeared behind them, sitting with his legs crossed and his head low.

-Warm. Soft blanket covering, but it catches, tears. I'm the wrong shape, there's something...

Solas nodded again.

-The Commander and Cole worked through a detailed map of Thedas to find out where the interference is originating from.- He dutifully unfolded a traveler's map of the Hinterlands and pointed to a place on the outskirts of Redcliffe. -With luck, we should be able to find whatever anomaly is interfering with the amulet, and help Cole.- Then he put the map away and continued, -Cole requested Varric to come, which was fortunate, considering he received a visitor in Skyhold reporting Corypheus is extracting Red Lyrium from the thaig Varric and Hawke discovered some years ago. Despite the inconvenience this may cause you, we thought it best to part at once and find you on the road, given the urgency of both matters.

-I understand,- Evey nodded, trying her best to mask the disappointment of having to delay her arrival at Skyhold (and see Cullen).

-I have brought something for you that might make the wait more tolerable.- At that, Solas delivered a sealed letter with her name in Cullen's handwriting on it, just before standing up and walking away to serve his dinner.

oOo

The happiness that Cullen's words had brought were violently destroyed the next afternoon, when they arrived on a hired boat in Redcliffe's harbor after leaving The Iron Bull, Sera and Cassandra on Calenhad's shore to ride home through the Imperial Highway.

Cole's interference turned out to be an ex templar that had chosen the Hero of Ferelden's statue as a meeting point to buy lyrium from a smuggler in the late hours of the afternoon, when all other citizens had already vacated the streets. Through the spirit's ramblings, they found out the templar had once been stationed in the White Spire of Val Royeaux, where the real Cole had been imprisoned and left to die of starvation after the templars threw him in and forgot about him. The Spirit of Compassion had come to help the poor apostate and, after realizing he couldn't, had assumed the existence of the boy, beginning his time as the being who everyone now knew as Cole. Distraught and crying out for vengeance, the spirit was currently vying for the right to take the life of the ex templar, as the man had once taken Cole's. Then, while Cole mumbled desperately to himself and the templar crouched in a corner waiting for them to be distracted enough for him to escape, Varric and Solas opened a heated discussion about whether or not they should allow Cole to exact his revenge on the man.

Evey, in contrast, was torn. On one hand, she couldn't deny the spirit the same privilege that she had granted Solas when it was he who demanded the lives of the mages who had tortured, corrupted, and eventually caused the death of his spirit friend. After all, Varric was right about one thing: Cole was not a normal spirit. He resembled a real boy more than he did an inhabitant of the Fade, but it was Solas' fear that acting upon those dark desires would corrupt Cole, and that horrified Evelyn. She loved Cole like the younger brother she never had and had always looked at him more like a child than a demon or a spirit, but whatever perception she or Varric had of him, one thing was certain: despite what he looked to be, he was not a boy, but a spirit, and as such was prone to wind up like Solas' friend should his purpose be perverted. Cole, though, was not making her decision any easier by mumbling the last living moments of the real Cole, the poor boy frightened and forgotten, suffering and hurting in the pitch black cell of the lower levels of the Spire, with nothing to do but hope for the merciful hand of death.

And so it was, when she watched Cole begin to rock back and forth, almost absent from this world by the intensity of his feelings, that she urged Solas to help him as he would any other spirit of the Fade. She might regret it later, and she knew Varric would always disagree with her decision, but the simple notion of risking losing Cole pained her so much that she couldn't find it in her heart to ask Solas to allow Varric to act instead.

As a result, Cole had left behind his pain, and in the process had released the ex templar from his guilt and shame after discovering the man had lived with the heavy burden of his actions ever since his brothers in arms had covered up the incident of the dead apostate.

At this point, Evelyn had wondered what else could possibly go wrong, and when Varric introduced her to Bianca, the dwarf and inventor of his crossbow (and, Evey highly suspected, inspiration for its name) she almost convinced herself that at least this mission, coming from someone that held Varric's complete confidence, would turn out just fine.

The Maker, apparently, never tired of proving her wrong.

The only Bianca that Varric should have trusted was the one that hung from the sling on his back. On the contrary, Bianca Davri was willing to dismiss the fact that she was risking her former lover's life, tricking them into believing she had only spied the red templars excavating the thaig to get to the red lyrium, instead of the reality of the situation, which eventually came to light: that it had been Bianca who had leaked the information, simply because she wanted to study it. Save for the fact that she had discovered red lyrium contained the Blight and that it was somehow alive, nothing good had come from it. Corypheus, possessing the body of Larius, had deceived Dagna until she had given him the key of the thaig in her search for a Grey Warden to help her study the substance. As a result, the darkspawn now had a considerable amount of red lyrium thanks to her lapse in judgment, and the investigation she had conducted had not been enough to justify the risk she had taken and the consequences said risk had had already. And Varric's face as they rode back to Skyhold was enough proof of the futility of Bianca's efforts. No matter how one looked at it, it was obvious the dwarf would have preferred not to have the insight on red lyrium that Bianca had given them in exchange to still be able to trust her implicitly, as he had done for so long. At least, Evey thought, the former trust he placed in her justified to some degree the obvious feelings Varric still had for her. Now, if his scowl was any indication, his love for her seemed to only worsen the betrayal, making him feel like an idiot just for loving her.

So by the time they spotted Skyhold in the distance, their group was eerily quiet, both Varric and Cole still reflecting on what had happened, while Evelyn and Solas remained silent out of respect for their pain.

For Evelyn, things had deteriorated too much, too quickly, and on too many occasions since the last time she saw Skyhold, and only the sight of Cullen leaning on the battlements waiting for her group after the horn blared to announce them lifted her spirits a little.

She was home.

The moment she entered the fortress, though, while Cullen was still walking down the stairs to meet her, someone else tapped her shoulder from behind.

When she turned, everyone in the courtyard heard her shout.

- _Caleb!_


	55. Chapter 55

**Author's note: I forgot to add this note when I published this chapter. The next chapter will arrive in 15 days and for a while I'll be updating once every two weeks until some things I've been dealing with come back to normal. I'm sorry to everyone.**

oOo

Chapter 55: A slice of Home

Except for a few intimate moments they shared, Cullen had never seen Evelyn so happy as she was when she turned and saw her brother smiling at her. She immediately jumped into his arms, hugging him with all her might, her feet dangling in the air as Caleb's hug lifted her from the floor.

Even if Cullen hadn't already known that the man currently holding his woman was her brother, it would have only taken a single glance at him to realize they were related. Caleb and Evey shared nearly identical features, and what made the Inquisitor graceful and feminine, with some minor tweaks, made Caleb masculine and extremely attractive. Whereas Evey's eyes were hazel, Caleb's were a deep moss green, and his hair was a more ashen tone of his sister's blonde. Other than that, and Caleb's short beard and mustache, the Trevelyan siblings were so similar that Cullen wouldn't have blamed anyone if they mistook the brother two years her senior for Evey's twin. Especially when considering how close the pair seemed to be.

By the time Cullen got to the courtyard, the siblings were already deep in conversation, though he noticed from time to time that Evey glanced at him from over her brother's shoulder. It was only when he stood close to them that she let go of her brother and turned to him.

For a second, he thought she might jump on him, too, kissing him like there was no tomorrow, and right in front of an older brother of all people. He had to admit that, though the idea unnerved him, at the same time he felt a thrill of excitement. On one hand, greeting her in such an intimate manner in front of a member of her family, when he had barely acquainted himself with Lord Trevelyan since the day of his arrival, made him feel so nervous that he actually considered bowing stiffly before her, just like he had done months ago when they were nothing more than a Commander and his superior. On the other hand, imagining her acknowledging their relationship in front of her brother excited him so thoroughly that he found himself fantasizing about taking her in his arms and kissing her in front of everyone within eyesight. But before he could answer to that, or any other desire he might have, Evey took her brother's hand and pulled him closer to Cullen.

-Caleb, let me introduce you to Cullen Stanton Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition forces and...

Caleb interrupted her then, and even as he clarified this was not the first time he encountered Cullen, he still extended his hand to take the Commander's.

-Yes, we've met; your ambassador introduced us at a lovely soiree she threw in my honor.

Caleb's tone could be as sarcastic as Evelyn's, and even if Cullen hadn't noticed the look in the man's eyes as Josephine paraded him through Skyhold, he would now know that Lord Trevelyan was as fond of social gatherings as his younger sister. Still, Cullen could hardly blame him when the Ambassador had accepted him instantly in the keep as more than a guest, and instead felt more inclined to admire him when Josephine had sung the man's praises in the War Room by the end of the day, for he had behaved as impeccably as Evelyn ever did, convincing Josephine once again that the Trevelyan family was filled with nothing but paragons of exquisite taste and refinement.

And once again, his perfect etiquette clashed with Cullen's more humble origins, when he found himself at a loss for what to say or do beyond clasping Caleb's hand and slightly bowing his head in acknowledgment.

-Your... Lord... brother,- he swallowed, -arrived yesterday morning.

Caleb, never to let an opportunity go to waste, looked at Evey and back to Cullen, a beaming smile on his lips.

-Lord Brother? Hear that little sis? I'm your Lord Brother!- He puffed his chest, looking entirely smug. -I like the sound of that. Thanks!- And he clasped Cullen's back, leaving the poor Commander completely lost and, even though it hadn't been Caleb's intention, entirely humiliated.

On the contrary, Evey was looking at her brother with a tired expression.

-It's always a delight to introduce you to someone. Mom would be so proud.

-I'm the middle child; I'm entitled to be extravagant.

Evelyn's eyebrow rose almost in time with her brother's assessment of his own behavior. Then, to Cullen's surprise, she placed herself between him and her brother without so much as sparing a word to Lord Trevelyan.

-Please forgive my brother,- she said, elbowing Caleb, who peeked over her shoulder, apparently to defend himself. -I wish I could say altitude affects his mind.

-She calls herself the "Herald of Andraste", and _I'm_ the one with the affected mind,- mumbled Caleb beyond her, trying his best to look affronted yet failing when his eyes sparkled at the idea of successfully teasing his sister.

Evelyn simply shook her head, the barest smile cresting on the corner of her lips while rolling her eyes. Then she looked back at Cullen and her smile widened, the same warmness as always tinging her eyes, silently telling him how glad she was at seeing him again, and making Cullen lose focus just for a second, allowing his eyes to respond in kind, only to then realize that Caleb would be able to notice how they were looking at each other in a way that superseded a simple relationship between colleagues.

-I'll see you later to debrief you about our findings,- Evelyn finally said, the mere four seconds they stood contemplating one another feeling like both an eternity and nothing more than a fleeting glance at the same time.

Nevertheless, Cullen managed to compose himself in time to answer.

-My door is always open, my Lady.- And, not being able to resist himself, he bowed professionally and place the softest kiss on the back of her hand.

Then, as he stood up again, he looked back at Caleb and nodded.

-Lord Trevelyan.

Caleb nodded, too, donning a smile that reminded him of the one Hawke used to make when presented with something particularly amusing.

-Commander.

Evey watched the exchange and feared what was to come. Knowing her brother, she recognized the smile he had shot Cullen, which was lingering on his face, as the one her mother's elven chambermaid had labeled "the trickster's smile" since it reminded her of the more salacious stories of Fen'Harel, and it was just as dangerous as the Dread Wolf. So, as years had taught her, she did the only thing that had any chance of working, and distracted him.

-I take it you've met everyone, then?

Caleb turned as he walked up the stairs with her, and for a second, left the smile behind to shrug his shoulders.

-Everyone of relevance that was here when I arrived, according to your Ambassador. Which reminds me...- He pointed behind him. -Was that a Seeker entering the keep at your side?- She nodded, nonplused. -Hmmm, interesting.

Evelyn could tell by his expression exactly what he was thinking and, if possible, feared it more than his sly smile.

-Oh, no, don't you dare!- Caleb's innocent face would have put Dorian's to shame, but she pressed on regardless. -I know that look, I've _seen_ that look, and the last time I saw it, five sisters of the Chantry renounced their votes the moment you left for home.

-I had nothing to do with that!

Evelyn stopped in her tracks and turned toward her brother, an accusatory look and a raised eyebrow emphasizing her point.

-Well, maybe a _little_ , but let me tell you, they never called for the Maker as fervently as they did back then.- And he grabbed her arm as they entered the main hall.

- _Five_ sisters of the Chantry, Caleb!

The accused raised a finger.

- _Two_. The other three just... went with the flow and left the Chantry of their own accord.

Evelyn sighed loudly to make sure he understood her opinion on the matter, which apparently worked since her brother kept a profound silence all the way to her quarters, where hot tea was already waiting for them, courtesy of Josephine.

When she climbed the last flight of stairs though, she found out the tea was not the only thing waiting for her.

-You've been sleeping in my room?- She practically yelled at her brother when she saw his traveling boots next to her unmade bed. It took her only a quick glance to find more evidence of his presence: a shirt thrown haphazardly over the chaise lounge, a pile of clothes over a chair, his razor next to her washing basin.

-Relax, your ambassador is already preparing a room for me. I'll be gone before you have time to notice.

-There's mud on the floor, Caleb. I think is safe to say that I already noticed you!- She walked to her bed and lifted one of his still muddied boots with the tips of her fingers.

For once, her brother actually looked distraught, rushing to her side and taking his boots in hand.

-Alright, I give you that; I'm sorry.

As he took the boots out to one of her balconies, she approached her desk, where she found yet another sign of her brother's presence when she accidently kicked his backpack beside her chair. Then she noticed her stacks of papers had been moved to the side, and in their place laid several white sheets of parchment next to an inkwell, as if someone had been writing letters before she arrived. The only problem was that she knew exactly where she kept her writing implements, and that was dangerously close to the locked drawer were she stashed Cullen's letters… A drawer she knew would be no match for Caleb's ability to pick locks.

The moment she tried opening the drawer, though, her brother reappeared from the balcony.

-Really, Evey? Do you have that little trust in me?

She turned, smiling similarly to the way he had not too long ago in the courtyard.

-Father's liquor cabinet,- she began counting on her fingers, -Master Elis' arsenal, the stable gates, Lady Eloise's undergarments drawer, _my_ _own_ _room_ …

-Yes, but all of those were proper _challenges_. I have nothing new to discover, now. I already know you sleep with your Commander.

Her heart began to pound in her chest so desperately that she feared her parents would feel it back in the Free Marches, but as she had so dutifully learned from all those years trying to hide any romantic interest she might have in her brothers' friends, her face showed no sign of her distress.

-Sure, _and_ half the army, _and_ the King of Ferelden, Caleb. Haven't you heard?

Of course, her brother was neither impressed nor discouraged by her sarcasm.

-Well, I don't know about the King,- he said, walking toward her until he leaned on the desk next to her, -but I _did_ hear something about a Prince,- he winked.

Even knowing this might come up from the moment she saw him, she couldn't help but rub her forehead in exasperation.

-Don't start with that, please!- She almost begged, -Mother has already sent me seven letters about it.

With a beaming smile, her brother leaned toward his backpack, and after a short search, he raised a letter in his hand.

-Eight.

-Oh, for the love of...!

He finished the exclamation for her.

-...Mother,- he said, offering the letter until she took it with irritation. -The expression you're looking for is 'for the love of mother'. That's what I kept telling myself as I rode here: "I'm doing this 'for the love of mother.'"- he only had to lay a hand over his chest to look more like a dramatic actor in his worst performance.

-Oh, you poor thing! You're breaking my heart,- she scoffed, looking anything but distressed.

The recovery from her brother's apparently heartbreaking confession was immediate, a look of practicality replacing his martyr airs.

-I doubt it. If I were, then your Commander,- he tapped a finger on her sternum to emphasize his point, -would be here challenging me to a duel...- Her wrinkled brow showed him how much she appreciated him mentioning Cullen again, which only widened her brother's smug smile. -And _that's_ how you bring up the subject the other person wants to avoid.

-I hate you,- she spat venomously.

Caleb simply tapped his finger on the tip of her nose, something that he knew she hated.

-As you should, baby girl.

-Don't call me that.

-Why?- he asked, as if it was breaking news that she didn't like her old nickname. Then he gasped and emoted like she had just stabbed him through the heart. -Don't tell me he made you a woman! Father is going to kill him!

She looked back at him with half lidded eyes and a bored face.

-Father is years late for that, but if he insists, I can point him in the right direction.- She moved some of the papers to the side of the desk until she revealed a map. -The _actual_ culprit doesn't live far from home. He was a Marcher.

Now she was the one smiling broadly while her brother was wrinkling his nose.

- _Eugh!_ Don't tell me that! I'm your brother! The mental image alone could scar me for life!

She took one step closer and tried her best to tower over him, even though their height difference only allowed her to reach his chin.

-Keep asking about Cullen and I'll tell you _where_ It happened, too.

For a while, she actually thought she had succeeded in shutting him up, but just as she was beginning to relax again, her brother stood behind her and whispered.

-So, it's "Cullen" now?

She turned and pushed him teasingly.

-Oh, shut up! It's not like you're so innocent.

Once again, Caleb lifted his hand to his chest in a decent mimic of a wounded, affronted man.

-Indeed, I am! Each time I commit sins of the flesh, I go to the Chantry to be forgiven.

-No, you don't!- She accused, -And even if you did, that's not how absolution works.

Caleb raised an eyebrow and looked to the ceiling, a hand on his chin, tapping his fingers over his lower lip as if deep in concentration. Finally, he concluded:

-Isn't It? What good is it for, then?

-You are going straight to the Void, you know that?

He crossed his arms and looked at her with the smuggest smile of the night yet.

-No, I'm not. My little sister has contacts in the Chantry and will certainly put a good word in for me.- He didn't wait for her to support his claim. -Plus, she is the "Herald of Andraste".- He placed air quotes on her title and she couldn't stop her small smile at how ridiculous it all sounded when he said it. -And apparently, my brother in law is a former templar... I'm covered!- He rushed through the last words, already extending his arms as if to protect himself from the punch he was certain would come after mentioning her lover again.

-Keep pushing with Cullen, and this Herald is going to send you to meet the Maker himself.- She said, drawing one of her daggers and testing its sharpness with the tip of her finger.

Not someone to be easily frightened, Caleb walked toward her and whispered.

-Good! Maybe He can tell me what you've been up to with the Commander.

In all the years since they were children, Evelyn had never once fallen back into her childish attitudes as quickly as she did then when she stomped her feet on the floor, lowering both hands, one gripping the dagger hilt and the other closed in a fist, in a perfect representation of one of her old tantrums.

-Ugh, you are impossible!

oOo

Half an hour later, Evey took her brother on an unnecessary tour around Skyhold. Caleb, of course, had already been paraded through every chamber of the fortress, but Evey needed some time alone, and with her brother breathing down her neck asking questions she was in no mood to answer (no matter how much her mother insisted on his gathering of information), that didn't seem possible in the foreseeable future. So, she casually took him to the rotunda first, to show him Solas' frescoes, explaining the events that had inspired each of the images, under the careful and patient look of her elven friend, of whom barely spoke a word, content with answering only the questions that were specifically directed to him and leaving the siblings alone in their explorations when he was not their focus. Once there were no more to show him, Evey lured her brother to the library under the excuse of showing him some of the most interesting combat books that she knew were safely kept in Cullen's library, and not where her main goal laid.

And for once, the Maker smiled on her, though she was not sure how much of a miracle it could possibly be, considering Dorian was always lurking in the library during the day, with the exception of his excursion with the troupes the day before to investigate a rumor of Venatori sightings close to Skyhold, which, according to the report she had read while her brother tortured her with his many inquiries, turned out to be unfounded. What she didn't expect was to also find Fenris there, and even less still, to find him speaking with Dorian without the telltale flaring of his markings from seething rage. Carefully, she tried to distract Caleb by explaining how the rookery worked, having him lean over the railing to look up at the open ceiling where the crows came and went even as they spoke.

From the corner of her eyes, she saw Dorian hand Fenris a book, and the elf nodded almost gratefully before turning and walking to the stairs, his neck stiff as a sword, trying to avoid her gaze.

The mage, though, smiled at her when she sent him a questioning look, winking at her silent question with the promise of telling her everything later. Then, as if nothing had happened, he turned and walked toward them, standing two steps behind her and Caleb.

-Caleb Trevelyan! You received my letters, I take it?

Caleb turned and, after a single glance at the mage, widened his eyes as large as saucers, even as Dorian rounded him until he forced Caleb to stand with his back to Evey, which allowed her to mouth the words, "keep him busy," to her friend, only to slowly creep away while her brother's surprise lingered. A second later, Caleb's mind realized the stranger's identity.

-MAKER. It's YOU!

Dorian couldn't be more delighted at his response, and flaunted what Evey recognized as his most arrogant expression.

Standing in all his glory, hands on his hips, one leg slightly bent, and one corner of his lips raising in a priggish smile, he looked back at Caleb as if he were the most delightful prey.

-As wondrous as I'm sure I am to behold, no.- He bowed slightly in a way that would have shamed most Orlesians and then, looking at Caleb from behind perfect eyebrows, extended his hand toward him. -Dorian Pavus, at your service.

The last thing she heard before slipping through the door of the rotunda was her brother's desperate call.

-Evey!

She didn't have time to linger in her betrayal, though, because Varric's laugh interrupted any regrets she might have. Not that she had any.

-Luring your brother into the beast's den, Inquisitor? What would the Chantry say?

-They would probably pray for Dorian's safety.

-Ha! Good one!

And then, particularly uncharacteristic of him, Varric turned and sat quietly on his chair, folding one of the Merchants' Guild letters into a new model boat. That last part was not surprising, but Varric's silence was, so Evey sat next to him and stopped his hands before he could finish the boat.

-How you've been doing?

-…I'm glad to have answers, but… _shit_ ,- he almost bit the last word. -The second she showed up here, I knew. I just...- Varric shook his head, crushing the model boat under his fist. -I let this mess happen. I gave her the thaig. And I am _not good_ at dealing with shit like this.

She was about to tell him something reassuring, but somehow, she felt like Varric needed more than kind words. He needed to be pushed into action.

-Quit being evasive. Tackle it head on.

The dwarf snorted, as he usually did when making fun of something, but there was no humor behind it.

-Sure. You know it took me three years to work up the nerve to confront my brother for trying to kill me? And even then, I couldn't make myself do it without somebody to stand there and hold my hand.- He then got up and began pacing next to the table. -If Cassandra hadn't dragged me here, I'd be in Kirkwall right now, pretending none of this was happening.

By the look on his face, he was convinced of what he was saying, so it fell on Evey's shoulders to make him think clearly.

-You know that's not true. You've worked as hard as any of us to stop Corypheus.

-Is that true? I don't even know anymore.

Inside his head, Varric could hear the Seeker's words torturing him: _"Varric is a liar, Inquisitor, a snake!"_ , _"We know whose side you are on, Varric. It will never be the Inquisition's"_. Those words made him want to punch the wall. Perhaps, with any luck, he would crush his bones and get some of his frustration out.

Only when Evey spoke again did he stop pacing.

-Well, I do.

The words practically nailed him in place, looking at her with a mixture of gratitude and pain, feeling like he didn't deserve her trust. Still, it was nice to have it, even if it felt misplaced.

-Thank you for that, and for your help back there.

He tried a smile, and though it was small, Evey thought she saw something inside that might soon transform into the peace Varric so thoroughly needed.

-No problem...,- And almost as if she was answering a silent request from the dwarf, she added a little of his particular brand of humor.- And you can count on me in three years if you decide to confront this.- She winked and saw part of the weight on Varric's shoulders begin to lift. -Though something tells me you're going to see her again.

Finally, as inevitable as it was with love, and as naive as it might have seemed, Varric smiled at the memory of Bianca, and his voice even sounded a touch playful.

-I always do.

Evey was about to add something else when someone cleared their throat behind her.

-Inquisitor? Do you have a moment?

As if Varric's thoughts earlier had conjured her, Cassandra was standing behind them, looking absolutely miserable.

It turned out Evey didn't know the half of it. Cassandra was not merely miserable. She was completely heartbroken, and when she told her not only that the mage rebellion began when a mage discovered the Rite of Tranquility could be reversed, but also that the Seeker's vigil implied being turned _into_ a Tranquil only to recover from that state without even being aware of it, Evelyn began to understand the reason behind her misery. Countless deaths had been on the Lord Seeker's hands, just to desperately attempt to cover the secrets of the Rite their Order had created, and knew all along how to reverse, and no small amount of hypocrisy accompanied every single mage who had been made Tranquil for consorting with spirits, when the Seekers themselves summoned a Spirit of Faith to break Tranquility every time a new Seeker was ordained.

All of that now weighed on Cassandra's shoulders, and if that had not been enough, the Seeker emptied her soul.

-There's more. Lucius was not wrong about the Order.- She got up from the chair, where they had sat down after Evey followed her to her quarters over the armory, and walked to the window, trying her best to remain calm, but knowing that even without being able to see her face, the Inquisitor would know how she felt. -I thought to rebuild the Seekers once victory was ours,- she sighed. -Now I'm not certain it deserves to be rebuilt.

-You said there was more in the book?- Evey asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Cassandra didn't turn, though, instead looking through the window at the troupes training down in the yard.

-At some point, power becomes its own master. We cast aside ideal in favor of experience,- she looked back at Evey from over her shoulders, and her eyes were both part anger and pain, -and tell ourselves it was all necessary. For the people.- Then her brow furrowed, and even if her tone didn't reflect it, her eyes were pleading. -Will that happen to us, Inquisitor? Will we repeat history?

Evelyn didn't feel any doubt about her answer, but even if she did, she wouldn't have shown it. Cassandra needed to feel they that were safe, that they were true to their ideals and would not deviate from that path, so when Evey replied, she made sure to sound as sure as she was, her faith in all of them reflecting in her certainty.

-No. We're nothing like the Seekers.

It didn't work as she hoped, Cassandra still sounding unconvinced.

-I wonder how much we resemble what they used to be…

As with Varric, honesty seemed to be the best course of action then, so Evelyn raised from her chair and walked toward her, placing one hand on Cassandra's shoulder.

-I don't think I've ever seen you so shaken.

Cassandra didn't look at her, instead focused on the book still laying on the table.

-I do not think the Seekers have been doing the Maker's work. Not truly.- She seemed to be tempted to add more, but then changed her mind. -I know you are not naive, Inquisitor, and though I want to share your faith in us now, I find myself doubting whether we can overcome the corruption that destroyed my Order.

Evelyn remained silent for a while as she looked back at Cassandra, nothing but comprehension in her eyes, only tinged with enough hope to try and pass it along to her friend.

-If you did rebuild the Seekers, how would you do it?

Cassandra walked to the table and placed a hand over the Seeker's Tome.

-I can't be the _only_ one remaining. We were always spread to the winds, and some may still be out there. I would find them one by one. We could _all_ read this book...- She opened it and skimmed through its pages, not aiming for any particular passage.- No more secrets.- She closed it again. - Then together we would establish a new chapter. The Maker's work, in truth.

Once again, Evelyn placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it lightly. This time, Cassandra turned to her.

-Rebuild the Seekers. Make them better than they were.

The shadow of a smile crossed Cassandra's lips then.

-Thank you. I could not have done this on my own.

After that, they talked and drank some more, focusing on the more mundane topics that eventually had them laughing together, not quite erasing the burden of the truths Cassandra had unveiled, nor the overwhelming task she had undertaken by deciding to rebuild her Order, but at least making things lighter if only for a little while.

Eventually, a courier came looking for Evey at The Iron Bull's request, but by then, Cassandra was thankfully her usual self.

oOo

It was late at night, and Cullen had willingly skipped dinner in the hall, ignoring completely the meal that had been brought to him by a servant when it was made than clear that he wouldn't be joining the others. He suspected Evey's hand was behind that personal service, and if it wasn't for the fact that he had been working furiously since that afternoon to secure her safety, he would have called it a night to see if he could slip pass her brother to visit her, if only to thank her for taking care of him.

 _Taking care of him._ The Inquisitor always thought of Cullen. She had nursed him back to health on one of his worst nights, had fought at his side and avenged him when he fell wounded at the Shrine, and was constantly worrying about whether he had eaten or slept enough. On top of that, she had made his life infinitely more wonderful by returning his feelings, and yet he kept failing her over and over. He had thought he had made Skyhold the safest fortress, securing the keep to make sure no harm could reach her while she was there, to compensate for the times when his body could not protect her while she was out on missions.

He had given his all, and it still hadn't been enough.

Now, as he contemplated the new guard rotations and security measures after four straight hours planning every point carefully, he hoped he could find a way to ask for her forgiveness before the day was done, even as said day was running short already. Perhaps, if the Maker smiled on him, she would come to him, if only to yell at him for his complete incompetence, and he would then be able to reassure her and ask her to give him another chance. Not that he thought she _would_ yell at him. She was too compassionate, and rarely blamed any of them for anything. Even when they repeatedly pointed out their mistakes, she would always find a way to comfort them, explaining that they would learn along the way, and that some things were simply impossible to predict.

But he should have known better. He was the Commander of the Inquisition's forces, and if he wasn't good enough for this, then what was he good for?

 _Please, Maker, let me see her before this day is over._

No sooner had he ended his prayer than someone knocked on his door. He called for the visitor to enter with his heart rising to his throat, hopeful that his god had heard him. Sadly, the one who opened the door was the wrong Trevelyan.

When Caleb entered, Cullen tried to hide his surprise and discomfort as best as he could, standing to greet the man while organizing the papers on his desk.

-Lord Trevelyan.

-Good evening, Commander,- the other said, nodding briefly toward him before taking his office into consideration, as if he was appraising it in some way.

For a moment that, to Cullen's mind, lasted an eternity, Caleb contemplated the owl hanging high upon the wall behind his desk, admiring it in silence until he spoke, beating Cullen by just one second.

-Impressive piece, -he admired, pointing to the bird. -My mother would love it. She's crazy about owls.- He peered at it more carefully, leaning his body forward as if he could see it in detail only by closing a few inches from the at least twelve feet that separated him from the owl. Finally, he wrinkled his nose and declared, - Unless it's real.- And added under his breath, -That would be creepy.

Cullen didn't know how to respond to that, and since he was not as skilled as Josephine in idle chat, nor as surreptitious as Leliana to dodge undesired topics, he did the next best thing by going straight to the point.

-Is there something I can do for you, Lord Trevelyan?

-In fact, there is,- Caleb confirmed as he turned toward him and leaned on his palms over Cullen's desk. -I heard about the attempted murder on my sister.

At that, Cullen couldn't help but flinch, something that did not go unnoticed by Caleb. It was, after all, the subject that Cullen feared the most, having to explain to Evelyn's older brother how he had been so careless as to let two qunari assassins sneak into the fortress. Never mind that they had targeted The Iron Bull; the fact that Evelyn had been present and might have fallen victim once they killed their target if Bull had not killed them first was so terrifying that to even imagine that chilled Cullen's blood to the point where he felt his heart slacken.

What he failed to notice while he tortured himself with guilt was that Caleb's tone sounded more casual than actually concerned.

-Should I be worried about your safety measures?

-I… understand your concern, my Lord, but I can assure you, the situation is under control.

Now he could swear he actually felt his pulse throbbing in his throat, and was certain that Caleb would be able to see it if he just raised his eyes from the desk.

When Trevelyan finally did just that, Cullen wished he had never done so. The man was a closed book to him. He seemed amenable, mischievous even, but he had met many men in his days as a templar that would look like that only to try to kill you later. Evey rarely had something bad to say about either of her brothers, but Cullen knew what it meant to be both a younger and older brother, and he remembered how jealously he had watched out for his sisters, even if Mia didn't appreciate her younger brother meddling in her business.

It was due to this uncertainty that, when Caleb raised his head smiling, Cullen couldn't help but feel more lost than ever.

-All right. I trust your word.

He nodded to emphasize his words, and for a split second, Cullen nearly relaxed… until Caleb resumed speaking.

-To be honest,- he shrugged, walking the length of the opposite side of the desk, -I'm more concerned that you are courting my sister without my father's express permission.- He stopped in his tracks then and stared at Cullen, almost as if the next thought had just came to mind. -You do know you need it, don't you?- He paused, and Cullen thought he might be waiting for an answer, but his lips refused to grant it to him, being so frozen in place as he found himself now.

Caleb apparently found the whole display incredibly amusing, and after just a few seconds of basking in the guilty pleasure of torturing Cullen, he added the proverbial cherry to the cake.

-Lucky for you, I'm here to assess you in his stead.

And Caleb straightened his back, posing as the perfect noble Lord, causing a deep blush to creep up Cullen's neck until it rested on his cheeks, raising his temperature until he could feel a thick drop of sweat open a path through the hair behind his left temple.

Now Lord Trevelyan's smile had diminished until he was looking at the Commander in the same way a benevolent tutor would to his slow, yet good hearted student: patiently, almost lovingly, but knowing that whatever he had strived to instruct would take some time to settle in his mind.

And to be fair, that picture was close enough to the truth to make Cullen feel less than uncomfortable. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't reconcile such opposing concepts. On one hand, there was Evelyn, a woman who didn't ask permission from anyone to be who she wanted to be, nor beg for forgiveness when met with resistance toward something she had decided. A woman whose strength and independence had captivated him from the beginning, even when, more times than not, that had inevitably infuriated him when his and Evey's personalities and opinions clashed. Someone who had never settled for social conventions, nor followed the most ridiculous of the nobility's practices. And on the other, here was one of her older brothers, whom Cullen knew had spent most of the day in her company, scolding him for not asking her father's permission to woo her like any suitor worth his name should do when it came to highborn ladies.

And yet no one had mentioned anything of the sort when Sebastian had stood where Cullen was now, in terms of a relationship with Evelyn.

With all that in mind, and fully aware that only silence had reigned in the last minute or so, he said the first thing that came to his mind, which of course turned out to be the stupidest thing he could had come up with.

-She... told you?- he asked, his hand rising to the back his neck and rubbing at it nervously.

Caleb once again sounded pragmatic, his smile barely widening.

-There's no need; you're both on everyone's lips lately. It's hardly a secret.

 _Did he just wink at me?_ Cullen thought after stealing a brief glance toward the man.

-And anyway, I asked Dorian, which was all the confirmation I needed.

Ah, Dorian was involved. So that had definitely been a wink.

Somehow though, even the idea of Caleb speaking with the Tevinter (or that now Dorian apparently knew for a fact that he was involved with Evelyn) didn't comfort him at all.

Still, there was little he wouldn't do for Evey, so he sighed deeply, straightened his back (and the imaginary wrinkles in his coat), and rounded the desk toward where Caleb was now standing, looking at him expectantly.

-Then...- He cleared his throat, telling himself that denying his involvement with her was useless and that he would do this their way if it meant keeping her close to him, which led him to bow once he reached Caleb. -My Lord, I humbly request your permission to court your sister, Lady Evelyn Trevelyan.- He'd said it in what turned out to be a surprisingly firm voice, rejoicing at the fact that his nerves hadn't betrayed him and made him stumble over his words.

Looking at Caleb with the intensity of a man that had nothing to lose, but everything to gain, he kept going, filling the silence that he knew would affect him if he let it sink into his subconscious, now that Caleb seemed unwilling to speak.

-I know I don't have much, and I'm aware I can't offer her the life other men of her stature may, but...

It was then that Caleb raised a hand to halt him, only to smile broadly a moment later, walking toward him until he was able to pat him with two hands on his shoulders, holding him steady.

-Relax, Commander. I was teasing you.- And he released him, turning to put some distance between them, just in case Cullen lacked the sense of humor he needed to get out of this without a black eye. -My sister would flog me if I were to seriously suggest I had that sort of authority over her.- And then he turned once again to whisper in confidence, -She is not all that fond of protocol,- he shrugged his shoulders, -to my mother's clear dismay.

Cullen was at a loss now, not sure of what had happened and whether he should feel relieved or offended for what only had been a carefully planned test from Evelyn's older brother.

And then it hit him. _Older brother._ Could he truly say he wouldn't have tested a man after Rosalie's heart if he had been there when it happened?

-Now, come with me. Varric asked me to fetch you for a game of Wicked Grace, and ordered me not to move from here until you promised to attend.

When he looked up to find Caleb smiling at him, using the proposal like a small peace offering, Cullen realized that, were he in his shoes, he would have probably done just the same, and inwardly he felt relieved to know that he and Caleb had come to something of an understanding.

He would support him in his pursuit after Evey's heart, and Cullen would, in turn, give everything of himself to be worthy of her love.


	56. Chapter 56

Chapter 56: Wicked Grace

By the time Evey arrived at Herald's Rest with Varric, almost everyone was waiting for her. On one side of the table sat Josephine, shuffling a deck of cards next to Cole, who looked at her hands as if that were the most unbelievable feat he had ever seen. In front of her sat Cullen with Blackwall to his left and an empty seat to his right, which separated him from a grinning Caleb. Next to the Warden, occupying the head of the table, sat The Iron Bull, who had a perfect view of Dorian and Cassandra directly across from him at the other end, the Tevinter mage only separated from her brother only by the table's leg.

-I found her, Ruffles! Deal her in!

Varric hurried to take the chair between Cullen and Caleb, assuming the position of mediator between two of the most important men in her life, leaving her no choice but to sit in front of her brother, next to Josephine.

The flash of longing she saw in the Commander's eyes when she took her place proved that she was not the only one who regretted Varric's chosen seat.

-Sitting in front of each other in a table. This brings back memories,- Caleb said when her eyes rested on him.

-Yes, but this one is wider, so you won't be able to kick me,- she answered defiantly. -Go on, I dare you!

Caleb shifted in his seat, evidently trying to reach her while everyone else waited patiently for Josephine to deal the cards. Just when Evey thought he would slide down his chair in his efforts to reach her, Dorian's smile grew, a devilish tone painting his features as he turned to Caleb.

-That's not your sister, but feel free to explore.

As everyone, herself included, exploded in laughter, Evey rushed to look under the table and, true to his custom, she saw one of Dorian's legs (the one closer to Cassandra) extended to its full length, where evidently Caleb had found it not a moment ago. What she didn't miss, though, was when, in an effort to retreat from the mage, Caleb tried to kick himself back and lost foot, landing the tip of his boot on Cassandra's shin.

The Seeker's short but pained exclamation and her surprised face made Caleb look appalled at himself for the first time since arriving at Skyhold, and for the third time in his life, at least in her presence, if Evelyn remembered correctly.

-I'm sorry Seeker... I...- But Varric didn't let him finish, laughing and slamming a fist against the table.

-Ha! Hawke has no idea what he's missing!

That reminded Evey of something she had noticed when she first arrived at the table: The Champion and Fenris were absent tonight, something that was very strange, considering they had made The Herald's Rest their new Hanged Man.

-Where is he?- she asked, looking behind her almost expecting him to enter the tavern as she spoke.

-He said he wanted to spend the night with Fenris before he goes back to Starkhaven tomorrow. Something about catching up.

Nobody mentioned the fact that they'd had around two and a half months for catching up, and as far as Evey concerned, she wouldn't be the one to bring it up. Looking around at nearly all her new friends together on a night that promised to be the respite most of them direly needed, one where the Inquisition and their problems could be left behind in favor of friendship, laughs, drinks and entertainment, she began to understand why Garret had chosen to stay with Fenris and enjoy their last opportunity before seeing each other again for Maker knew how long. She couldn't imagine her life without her friends now, and even when she knew the day she would be forced to say goodbye to them would eventually come, for now she was planning on doing exactly the same thing the Champion was doing: enjoying the company of those she loved.

Varric, though, had not given up on Hawke yet.

-He said they might join us later.

That gave Cullen the perfect excuse.

-You seem to have enough people. I have a thousand things to do.

-Losing money can be both relaxing _and_ habit forming. Give it a try.- answered Dorian, always a confident man, even when more times than not, it was he who lost against Cullen in a chess match.

-Curly, if any man in history every needed a hobby, it's you.

Evey couldn't agree more with Varric, and apparently so did Cullen, because after just a second of hesitation, he took the cards Josephine had already dealt him and shuffled them, matching pairs and preparing his game.

After that, when Josephine had already dealt them all in, they would have delved directly into the game if not for Cassandra's confusion.

-Are three drakes better than a pair of swords? I can never remember.

Varric couldn't contain his soft laugh, inwardly enjoying that Cassandra seemed to be leaving all the Seekers' drama behind in favor of enjoying the night and concentrating in her game... confusing as it was.

-Seeker, remember how I said, "Don't show anyone your hand"? That rule includes announcing it to the table.

-But just so you know, they are.- added Caleb, smiling at the Seeker in what seemed to be a pitiful attempt to win her favor back after kicking her. Something that would have been far easier were Dorian not beside him.

-I didn't take you for a liar, Lord Trevelyan. And with the woman you just attacked.

Following Dorian's teasing attitude, Caleb raised a hand to his chest and other one in the air.

-I swear on my honor: I'm telling the truth, my Lady.- He finished this by slightly bowing his head toward the Seeker.

Evey's snort was audible all around the table.

-On your honor?- she said after lowering her drink. -Yes, I'm sure _that'll_ make it better.

-You _do_ remember we share the last name, don't you?

The task of avoiding yet another childish dispute between siblings fell unexpectedly on Cole's shoulders, who raised to match the challenge perfectly (albeit unintentionally) when he voiced his thoughts.

-There's a crown on his head, but a sword, too. His head didn't want either.

-Don't talk to the face cards, kid.

Caleb's look of complete and utter disbelief, watching the boy both in confusion and surprise, made everyone else laugh, except for Cole, who felt sad thinking that Evey's brother didn't remember him, until Caleb called him by his name, telling him that next time he would make sure to bring a deck of cards without either just for him, the familiarity in his tone reassuring the spirit that he was not surprised by his presence, but instead found him only a little disconcerting.

Then the bets began, and everyone around the table allowed themselves to forget about the problems in their lives, except perhaps the ever present threat of Josephine stripping most of them of all their money, and even still the company was well worth leaving behind a considerable amount of their savings.

Eventually, the game degenerated from the teasing gibes and concentrated looks into the warming confidence of telling embarrassing stories, and after a particularly salacious one straight from Seheron by The Iron Bull's lips, Cullen began to tell one of a recruit that found himself in front of seventy mages and thirty templars with nothing to cover his dignity but his knickers and a strong attitude that led him to salute the hall and turn as if that was just another night during guard watch. Something that, a few hours from now, would feel disturbingly premonitory.

Evey couldn't be happier to hear them all laugh as if they didn't have a care in the world, especially because for the first time since she'd met him, Cullen was talking about his years in the Circle with something besides sadness and anger, finally a happy memory opening its way past all the misery he had undergone there until the Hero of Ferelden had saved him from his magic prison. His eyes were now candid, smiling and laughing with so much joy that she felt her heart would burst, tempting her to rise from her chair only to walk to him and kiss him with all her might. But she couldn't do that, and as the thought passed by, she felt her cheeks blushing furiously with the idea of acting on her desires, opting instead to join everyone wholeheartedly in their mirth, until an anecdote of her own came to her mind.

-I've got one for you.- Everyone turned to look at her, but it was Cullen's warm eyes that almost made her falter and lay her eyes on someone else (anyone else) lest she forget what she was going to say. -Firstly, my aunt is known across the Free Marches for her love of Antivan opera. So, of course, when a performance of "The Murder of Queen Madrigal" opened, she made us all attend.

To her delight, Caleb spluttered his drink when he heard the name of the play, remembering the event his sister was about to disclose, and praying to the Maker that she would restrain herself to tell all the truth, and would relate the version they both had agreed on all those years ago. None of that saved him from the curious looks and soft giggles of the others around him after his reaction to his sister's words, nor from another of Dorian's commentaries.

-Oh, this should be good.

Evey followed on with the story as if nothing had happened, sparing only a short glance toward her brother, one that threatened to reveal the truth, reveling in the idea of having him at her mercy.

-She had booked the best seats in the theater, an entire box exclusively reserved for my family. Now, our brother Maxwell had officially announced his engagement, so when the lights dimmed, he and his fiancé quickly found something _else_ to do, but Caleb,- she made the briefest pause here, only to torture him, -and I were having the worst night with my aunt constantly shushing us, so we decided to sneak out of our seats and explore the theater.

Caleb breathed deeply. Apparently, Evelyn was going to share the more "suitable for all ages" version of the story.

-And so it happened that we ended up backstage, where we found dozens of props suggesting a Deep Road's play, entirely with a cage labeled "nugs" filled with rabbits.

-Why rabbits? Why not use actual nugs?

Cullen's question interrupted her, to which she turned her head to look at him, smiling beautifully, not even caring if the others realized that she was beaming too much to be looking at someone who was merely a friend.

 _Maybe I should stop drinking,_ she thought absently before she decided better, taking another swig and answering him.

-You know, I actually asked that years later. Apparently, rabbits don't get as skittish, and they don't squeal and interrupt the actors.

-Then what happened?- someone asked, but with Cullen's scar tightening as he smiled back at her, she couldn't care less who had posited the question.

Caleb, now smiling knowingly while looking at his sister, answered for her.

-She felt bad for the rabbits and set them loose.

That called her attention back to her sibling, an indignant look that fooled no one on her face.

-Right, yes, _that_ was what happened!- For a second, Caleb eyes flared with something akin to a warning mixed with a plea, and since Evelyn was feeling gracious that night, she added, -You told me to!

As quickly as his fear had risen, it fell away, and now Caleb looked nonplussed, nearly making Evey regret her decision.

-I did not.- He took a swig from his mug, and wiggled his eyebrows. -Besides, since when do you listen to me?

-That was the day I learned not to.- Her brother only winked at her, smiling devilishly. -Long story short, we managed to catch most of the rabbits, but we didn't notice one jumping to the stage until we heard the soprano miss the first note of her career when a bunny hopped over her feet and made her trip, falling headfirst to the floor.- Somewhere at her right, Josephine drew her breath in sharply, the alcohol almost making her forget her usual calm and correct demeanor for a more honest reaction. -I ran to catch the little fugitive, but then I heard a collective gasp and realized I was standing in the middle of the stage. So, I panicked, raised the rabbit over my head with both hands,- as she spoke she demonstrated the action with her mug, -and shouted, "Blessed be Andraste! The murderer has been caught!"- She waited until her friends' laughs calmed down a bit before adding, -My aunt refused to speak to me for three months, and this one,- she pointed at Caleb who, knowing the story was over, had one of his best smug smiles, -didn't even earn a frowned look!

-Of course not; I was as innocent as...- He paused as if thinking of a good comparison, one that apparently he found in the ceiling while he looked deep in thought, -…me.

And he smiled charmingly in the same way that had conquered her aunt's heart, leading to declare him free of guilt all those years ago.

Still, the story seemed to delight her friends, with Varric asking her if he could steal that for his books, Cole telling her that his favorite part was when the rabbits showed up (so, pretty much the whole story) and that there should be more stories featuring them. Even Josephine reflected on the fact that if anyone were to find out the girl who ruined "The Murder of Queen Madrigal" was now the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisition would be ruined, which, nevertheless, had nothing to do with her desire to hear it again, a request that was quickly lost between all the laughs and comments both praising her for her wits and mocking her for what, she had to admit, was a pretty hilarious mental image.

Eventually, she decided that it was time for more drinks, and to her surprise, Caleb offered to bring more to the table, announcing after Josephine's last victory that he would retire from the game after the Ambassador had pretty much turned his pockets inside out, which gave the Antivan permission to deal the others without waiting for him. The rest, Evey included, retired as well, everyone already knowing that behind Josephine's innocent demeanor laid a cutthroat player who would make sure to leave the tavern with enough money to fund her own Inquisition. Cullen, however, had never been the kind of man to surrender easily and, emboldened with what he thought was a careful study of the Antivan's game, a little more alcohol than he was used to these days, and Evey's constant warm presence, he defied Josephine with the confidence of a man certain of his victory.

-Deal again. I've figured out your tells, Lady Ambassador,- he said in challenge, leaning over the table with half lidded eyes and a satisfied smile.

At that sight, Evey couldn't help but widen her own, completely enraptured by his contagious happiness, thanking the Maker for giving him the opportunity to enjoy himself for a night and see that friends indeed surrounded him.

While everyone looked back at Josephine, waiting for her to raise the proverbial glove the Commander had thrown, Cullen briefly looked at Evey, his eyes sparkling, making her heart race in her chest and her stomach flutter.

Accepting the challenge, Josephine mirrored his position, joining her hands over the table, speaking in her endearing but almost motherly scolding tone.

-Commander! Everyone knows a lady has no tells.

Evey's unabashed enjoyment whilst looking at Cullen was cut down by her brother leaning on her shoulder as he placed a filled mug in front of her.

-Apparently nobody told _you_ that, dear sister,- he whispered in Evey's ear, reminding her that when it came to Cullen she definitely had tells, and they were already obvious to anyone who dared turn their face toward her, something that she confirmed when, searching for any other place to look, her eyes fell on Dorian's pleased grin.

-Then let's see if your good fortune lasts one more hand.

Maybe it was the alcohol, but the way Cullen sounded, confident and almost playful, gave her hope that he was going to make Josephine experience what they had all felt that night as they parted with their savings. That feeling lasted until the Ambassador raised her cards. She had no tells, that much was true, but still something in the air shifted, as if the Antivan had spotted her prey and was planning the best way to lure him into her trap. The only problem was, the prey thought himself the lion he had been called ever since the dawn of the Inquisition, and mistook Josephine for a helpless halla.

No amount of pleading looks on her part, or warnings from her companions, had diminished Cullen's confidence in his victory, to the point where, only one move away from finishing the match, he made the biggest mistake he ever could have, when he found himself short of money and looked around.

-Doubting you abilities, Commander?

-Never,- he said in such a deep and assured tone that Evey couldn't repress the chill that ran down her spine, all her nerves tingling in response to his voice. -In fact, I'm willing to bet even the clothes on my back that I'll see you fall.- He said, pushing the remainder of his coin to the middle of the table.

He should have measured his words more carefully, or should have had a less trustworthy word that might have allowed him to back off of his bet without feeling less honorable, because only one movement later, he found himself owing (and paying) with exactly everything he had right there on his back. And Josephine had been ruthless, demanding even his smallclothes, to the Commander's absolute mortification. Cullen begged for mercy, and surprisingly the Ambassador was willing to let him keep them under the condition of playing yet one more hand, supposedly allowing him the opportunity to win all his clothes back, along with his dignity.

Once again, he should have said no. He should have walked away in his smallclothes as fast as he could until he reached the safety of his office and up to his rooms to find a replacement for the clothes that, Evelyn feared, Josephine would hold in addition to his armor, until he would be forced to beg for them in order to stop the entirety of Skyhold from finding out. Not that he was in any risk of keeping this a secret, considering the colorful characters that were now witnessing his defeat.

Alas, Cullen was a proud man, and that combined with the idea of vindicating himself in Evey's eyes, whom in his mind was thinking less of him by the minute, along with a considerable amount of alcohol clouding his judgment, made him agree to the Ambassador's apparently kind gesture.

It was a trap. Evey knew it, their friends knew it, Caleb, who had only met Josephine two days ago, knew it. Even Sera, who the Inquisitor discovered had been drunk below the table this whole time, knew it. Everyone knew but Cullen. Or perhaps he knew it, too, and was hoping to turn this into an epic victory that would win his dignity back and be forever immortalized in one of Varric's tales (as if this version wouldn't already be included).

No matter his reasons, he went with it, and he lost in the most colossal way they'd ever witnessed.

Still, despite the laughter, teasing, and even Varric's "I told you so", Cullen kept his aplomb and paid the debt, causing Evey to feel curious, terribly flustered and slightly distressed over the hidden desperation in his eyes as he shifted on his seat, divesting himself of the last piece of clothing preserving his modesty. Her mind was immediately filled with a plethora of images, now much more realistic now that she could see in perfect detail how his muscles tensed as he moved, trying his best to maintain a calm facade that was quickly betrayed by how his arms tightened. The only other time she had seen him this naked had been when she found him fighting his withdrawal, and admiring his physique had been the last thing in her mind back then... But now...

 _Maker, help me!_

As she tried her best not to make too much of her feelings apparent, and to remember that she needed to breathe to stay alive, no matter how impossible that task seemed now that an adorable crimson tone was coloring Cullen's cheeks as the soft breeze coming from the slightly ajar door made his skin crawl, Cassandra's voice opened its way into her brain.

-I'm leaving. I don't want to witness our Commander's walk of shame back to the barracks.

The Seeker would never know how grateful Evey felt for her in that moment, when her statement allowed her to turn to look at her instead of staring at Cullen like a starved woman. Not that any of that would save her from the significant look Caleb sent her way, nor would save Cullen from Dorian's gibe.

-Well, _I_ do!

-I don't,- followed Caleb. -For _this_ Trevelyan,- he said, pointing to himself, -our familiarity stops here.

Evey thought perhaps she should be thankful that, between everyone else's jests and laughs, Caleb's commentary was lost, and that one by one her friends vacated the table, leaving her facing a thoroughly humiliated Cullen. He looked at her with pleading eyes that only stopped begging for mercy when she smiled sweetly and raised from her chair, hoping the Commander wouldn't notice the passed out elf splayed below the table precisely in front of where his naked form had been sitting a second before he dashed out of the tavern.

For a couple of minutes, she and Varric lingered to talk by the fire, the dwarf surprising her when he told her he had a hard time remembering she was not only an icon, like Andraste was nowadays in everyone's minds and almost all of Thedas' decour, holding a bowl of fire in her hands and looking pretty much as the deity they all considered her to be. Of course he thought of her as a friend, too. She could see it in his eyes, but at least for now he wouldn't be able to see her as he had come to see Hawke. The Champion was a man, an impressive one, but nothing more than that. His friend from Kirkwall had no ability beyond magic, and even that had been bestowed to him as part of his father's legacy, as was wont to happened with most mages. On the contrary, and despite what they had found out in the Fade, people still looked to her as if she truly were the Herald of Andraste, a woman touched by the Maker's bride, who had given her the power to close the Rifts and save Thedas. Not for the first time, she wished she had not promised Solas to keep the elven nature of the anchor in secret, but deep down, she knew it wouldn't make a difference. Surprising as it was for everyone to believe, Varric was a religious man at heart, at least to the point where he put his faith in Andraste and in herself. Her only consolation was that, from time to time, he also seemed to be able to look beyond that and see her as a friend, one that was quickly growing on him, even beyond the "chosen one" facade that she so desperately wanted to push aside.

They were discussing the dangers of repeating the game night with Josephine and how he would try to convince Cullen using what was certainly a growing desire for revenge, when the door suddenly opened to reveal the Champion of Kirkwall himself, one arm draped over Fenris' shoulders, both grinning too widely to be free of the influence of alcohol, especially when it came to the elf.

-Hey, Varric! We saw Cullen running through the courtyard on our way in,- Garret exclaimed, pointing to some area at his back, losing his grip on Fenris and walking surprisingly straight. -Looks like you played some _Wicked_ Grace, indeed,- he added luridly while Evey's brother entered behind them, standing by the Champion a second later, which prompted Hawke to turn and hug him by the neck.- Oh, and we also found Caleb alone, the poor thing!- If his tongue rolled on the R, Evey didn't notice. -Got any more drinks?- he asked pointlessly, considering Fenris was already filling mugs at the bar.

-Never enough for you two, Hawke, but we can try,- answered Varric, smiling at his friend.

-What do you say, Caleb?- Hawke turned, looking for the man's approval.

-Sure! Maybe I'll tell you what _really_ happened during "The Murder of Queen Madrigal".

-No idea what that means, but it sounds dirty.- Hawke released him then and walked toward Evey. -What say you, Inquisitor? Care to share a few drinks?

It was then, when Garret's eyes sparkled with mischief, that Evey realized he was far soberer than she was, even if he had probably consumed more than her.

-I'm afraid I must decline, Hawke. It's late enough as it is.

-Plus, there's a naked Commander on the loose.- Caleb's tone was high enough to make Varric laugh and Fenris smirk, but not enough for Hawke and Evey to hear, which only made everything that much more amusing.

oOo

Cullen was sitting on his bed as naked as he had found it, going over what had happened. He retraced the match over and over in his head, wondering where everything had gone so wrong, hearing Josephine's late warning that he should never bet against an Antivan after he had done so, something that he could have very well concluded by himself, since she had left him with literally nothing on him.

Despite the mortification of running to his office completely in the buff, he had decided not to bother himself with any clothes once he was already in his room. He slept in the nude anyway, or at least he did now that the weather (and the hole in the ceiling) allowed him to do so without worrying about catching an illness. It had been quite annoying during the winter to have to cover himself both in nightclothes and thick covers despite the fact that, more times than not, his body felt warmer than other people thanks to his lyrium withdrawal. He had learned that borderline feverish temperatures didn't equal invulnerability to the inclemency of the winter, though, and after the first time he had been forced to overcome both his addiction and a fever caused by his disregard for his body while snow fell through the hole in his ceiling, he began to wear something else to protect him from his own stupidity. Not that it had helped him back there with Josephine. The woman seemed like a force of nature when it came to lies and deceit (something that he would have related more with Leliana than the Ambassador), but apparently no amount of clothes and armor could protect him from her.

Now, nevertheless, they were enjoying beautiful summer nights where his greatest threat was waking up to rain pouring over him if the winds were blowing from the east and carrying the drops to his bed. As long as he stayed here, he could enjoy the freedom of being naked in a private way, as it should have always been.

-Maker, I'll never hear the end of it…

He was about to lie down and try his best to sleep when he heard one of the doors below open.

-Cullen?

His heart did a somersault at hearing her voice. When she came back from the Hinterlands after being more than two weeks away, he already knew things would be complicated for them with her brother in Skyhold, but after just one day of having her in the Keep, being unable to kiss and hold her as he had been yearning to do ever since she left with Cassandra, Bull and Sera had been more difficult than he had imagined. He used to have self control, for Andraste's sake! Before meeting her, he had been a restrained man, but since then (and more specifically since she had taken him back), he had begun to feel like there weren't enough hours in the day to satisfy his desire to be with her. It was no surprise that the second he heard her calling for him, he rose to his feet in a desperate search for a pair of breeches and a tunic to get down as fast as possible to where she was, praying to the Maker that Caleb hadn't followed her.

Not ten seconds later, he was practically sliding down the ladder and into her arms before she could so much as say a single word. The thought that perhaps Caleb was only a few steps away and about to enter his office as well didn't even cross his mind when he reached the lower floor and saw her standing alone next to his desk, the urgent need to kiss her at last driving him forward until his lips were on her and he could feel her moaning against his mouth, holding him just as strongly in return.

The kiss was not like the ones they usually shared, where he would coax her with his lips to deepen it, or would lose himself to her and let her set the pace, conveying their sweetest feelings for each other with just their lips. They had kissed passionately, of course; he could think of one particular time that still pained him, and that was the only one he would forever regret, when he had pushed her forcefully in an attack, his mind completely gone thanks to the lyrium song and the magic of a restless anchor combining. Other times, they had kissed with rising passion, their lips slowly leading them to new territory where they pushed the boundaries of their relationship further, seeking each other in the dark. Those last ones were some of the memories Cullen held most dear, even though, if he was honest with himself, almost every moment (save for that fateful occasion that he needed to stop recalling now) at her side was his favorite.

Now, though, the kiss felt different.

It wasn't just a kiss born of the homesickness of being apart, or spending endless nights thinking of the other, fretting for her safety even as he tried his best to perform according to his duties as the Commander of her army. This was not just the need to feel her close after too many days of not being able to bury his hands in her hair, of smelling her perfume or feeling her skin, to hear those wonderful sounds escape her mouth as he explored her neck with his lips and caressed her back.

No, this time it was more. It was the desperation of having her close but still too achingly far away, of standing in front of her and not being allowed to kiss her, of wishing for at least one single stolen moment and finding that, as the hours bled by, that chance was increasingly more improbable. This was the same burning need he had felt while Sebastian had been in Skyhold, save for the fact that now he was both rejoicing and hating that she was longing for him as much as he was her, and no matter how much they wanted it, they were unable to close that distance and simply enjoy each other.

When they finally pulled back, they were winded, sharing their breaths as their foreheads touched, refusing to step away from one another.

-What brought that on?- she asked between intakes of breath. -Is there something I should know?

He smiled, closing his eyes, hearing her words roll off her tongue, so close to him that he could almost taste them in his own. He sighed, filling his lungs with her scent.

-Only that I missed you.

She made a small sound, something between a whine and a moan, and crashed her mouth on his again, pulling him with her until he was pushing her against the door.

This time, pulling back was as difficult as winning a sparring match with Corypheus himself. Somehow, though, he managed to do it, opting to look at her now disheveled hair, puffy lips and heaving chest as she tried to refill her lungs with enough air to make the world stop spinning, something that she knew for a fact was impossible as long as he kept looking at her that way.

The memory of her watching him with fervent eyes before he ran out of the tavern came unbidden to his mind, and he felt his insides lurch with desire even as he felt a blush raise from embarrassment.

-And that I'm never playing cards again,- he smirked, chuckling and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He then frowned a bit and added, looking at his bare feet close to her boots, -I still can't find my...- He made the mistake of raising his eyes to her, and the burning look that greeted him knocked all words out of him. -It doesn't matter,- he whispered before bending forward to kiss her, this time more softly, his lips brushing against her teasingly before finally sealing over hers in a soft and sweet kiss.

Then, fearing that if they kept moving down this path he wouldn't be able to restrain himself, especially with her looking at him that way, he released her waist, sliding his hand down her arm until he caught her hand in his, taking her with him when he began to walk to his desk.

With his back to her, he added, shaking his head in disbelief.

-I don't know how Varric talked me into that.

He half sat on the edge of his desk, one of his hands over his left thigh, the other still holding hers, his legs slightly bent and open which prompted her to slide between them just as he had secretly hoped she would, getting close to him again and running the tip of her fingers over the opening of his shirt, her eyes in his chest as if she couldn't will herself to look up and into his eyes. He hadn't realized until now that, in his haste, he had picked up an old, loose tunic with front lacings that, naturally, he hadn't adjusted before descending.

-That's too bad,- she whispered more to his chest than to him, a tinge of teasing in her tone mixing with what was obviously a touch of nervousness. -Watching you lose made me want to play cards more often.

Maker preserve him. She looked up at him from below her lashes, and Cullen's free hand gripped the mahogany with so much strength to avoid leaping on her that he thought he would snap a bone clean through.

While he was trying to control himself, she giggled and raised her hand to his cheek, caressing him lovingly.

-You were blushing. It was adorable.

He felt the words "Maker's Breath" creep up his throat, but before he could say them, he remembered something and smiled back with a devilish look that he knew made her stumble over her words.

-You were blushing too, if I recall correctly.

She looked up, and he down, and the kiss just happened, neither too sure who had initiated it or even if it was possible to pinpoint who had taken the lead. What started as a gentle brush of lips slowly grew more fervent, and Cullen let go of her hand and the desk to hold her hips tightly, pulling her toward him even as she stepped forward to press her body against him. Her hands were now in his hair, ruffling it in her desire to prolong the kiss, but it didn't take long for her to lower one hand to his neck, the other exploring lower until she found the opening in his shirt, feeling all the skin she could find while at the same time trying to keep him flushed against her body.

His hands traveled over her, one resting just below her neck and the other on the small of her back, his fingers twitching as though wanting to go lower, but afraid of going too far for her liking. She helped him by tiptoeing, granting silent permission, and felt his hand slide down, smiling against his mouth when he left it there after she stood normally again. Surprising even himself, he went so far as to squeeze her a little, in a soft but clear sign that he had realized what she had done and was thrilled by it.

Once again, when the kiss stopped they stayed glued to one another, forehead against forehead while panting and smiling at each other, her eyes closed and his looking at her as if he feared she would vanish or be called away by her brother, forced to leave his side. He caressed her face, his other hand now raising to her lower back again, trying to calm his heart and shut the voice in his mind.

 _Stay_ , he wanted to say. _Stay with me tonight… Stay with me all nights._

Though he might have only shared three nights with her, only two involved waking by her side with the right to pull her close and enjoy her sighs when she realized he was holding her.

Two nights, two mornings, in an ocean of endless nights and days alone in his life. It was nothing, even if he compared them with the few mornings he had woken up with company at his side. It seemed nothing, but in truth, it was everything. For him, no amount of nights dedicated to sating his most base desires with another woman would ever compare to waking up with her curled up against him. Two nights had been enough to melt his heart; two nights had sufficed to dream of having her with him every time he went to bed; two nights had convinced him that he wanted to wake up with her in his arms for the rest of his life.

And that feeling terrified him to no end, especially when she refused to let him go, when her lips were traveling down his neck until the kiss died where his shirt began, leaving the promise of a day where nothing would stop her from exploring him whole. He feared it, because there was nothing that pained him more than losing it, losing _her_ , and that made the idea of letting her go and climbing up to his bed alone even less appealing.

 _Stay. Stay. Stay._

-I'm sorry, was... was there something you needed?- he smiled softly down at her, an apology written on his face.

When she looked back at him, he could see that she was still in a daze.

-Hmm?... Oh, yes,- she answered before then moving away from him, leaving Cullen to hate himself for opening his big mouth. She walked around the side of his desk and grabbed something from the floor. -I brought your armor back,- she said with a smirk, showing him his breastplate.

-How...?

Evey shrugged.

-I told Josephine that it could set a bad example for the troupes if word spread that the Commander of the Inquisition had lost his armor in a card game.- He looked appalled by her words, and Evey immediately regretted them. -Best lie I ever told,- she winked at him, hoping that was enough to soothe his mind, and considering the warmth his eyes held when he took the breastplate from her hands, she had succeeded. -I couldn't get the clothes back, though. I think she wants to revel in her victory for a day or two before returning those.- she grimaced. -Sorry.

-Don't be.- He left the breastplate on his desk and stepped close to her again.-Thank you,- he whispered as his head bent to kiss her again.

When they drew back, he immediately began to pick his armor up off the floor in the hopes of distracting himself from the thundering of his heart in his ears, and the incessant chant in his head:

 _Stay. Stay. Stay._

She helped him put all the pieces on the armor stand, and when nothing but his coat remained, she clutched it against her chest as if she didn't want to surrender that last item, knowing full well that returning it would leave her with no excuse to stay longer.

-Evey,- he whispered, caressing her cheek, but she refused to look at him. Instead, she petted the fur with one hand while the other one held the cloak like it were her sanity. He moved his fingers to her chin and raised her head until she looked at him in the eye.

And then he saw it.

He had only to ask and she would stay. She'd forget all about her brother, about her reputation and the gossip that might spread, about the decorum and what people might think if she spent the night with him before they could publicly acknowledge their relationship, as everyone already suspected.

And that was precisely why he couldn't ask her to do it. For now, knowing she wanted to just as much as he did was enough.

-…You should go to sleep.- He tucked the same rogue strand of hair behind her ear. -Fenris is going back to Starkhaven tomorrow at first light, and we should all be there to wish him a safe journey.

She nodded, her eyes shining with something that he thought might be disappointment.

He slid his hand to her neck and with his thumb caressed her cheek.

One last kiss, and he was walking her to the southern door and closing it behind her, pressing his forehead against the wood as soon as he was alone, a single word still echoing like a prayer in his mind.

 _Stay…_


	57. Chapter 57

Chapter 57: Dreams of a Future, Fears of the Present

She had only slept for a few hours when Josephine entered her room, followed closely by two servants, one carrying a tray of breakfast and very strong coffee, and the other with an armful of dresses to look her best at Fenris' departure, as if the elven commander hadn't seen her in all types of armor (bloodied and not), leathers and riding clothes in the two and a half months he had spent with the Inquisition.

-Good morning, Josephine,- she said at hearing the Ambassador coming up the stairs.

-Good morning, Inquisitor.

When the Antivan reached her chambers, Evelyn couldn't help gawking at her with wide eyes. Josephine looked as if she had slept the entire night without issue, going to bed after drinking nothing more than a warm glass of milk. Evey, on the other hand, could feel her head throbbing incessantly just by trying to sit up.

-How in the Maker's name do you look so fresh?- The moment she let out that indignant question, her head pounded twice until her pulse lulled back to a softer beat on her skull. It still ached, but didn't knock her blind as her own voice had done just a second ago, lowering her head into her lap and pressing her temples with the heels of her hands.

One of the servants, who happened to be Hattie's mother (the young girl who had tried to serve her and Sebastian at the table the morning he'd arrived), tapped her shoulder and handled her a cup of coffee. She took it and gratefully mouthed a "thank you" before Josephine replied to her question.

-I'm an Antivan, Inquisitor.

And she left it there, shuffling through the dresses the other servant had brought along, as if that simple answer explained everything. Evey couldn't help effecting a dubious expression while looking at Hattie's mom, who in turn simply shook her head and shrugged her shoulders, apparently as lost as she was about why being Antivan provided one with the ability to look wonderful after a night of excessive indulgence.

-Now, up you get! We need to determine the perfect dress for the occasion,- she said, tugging down her sheets.

-Can I at _least_ finish my coffee first?- she pleaded childishly.

-Not in _bed,_ Inquisitor. The last time you tried that, you spilt it and ruined the Orlesian silk sheets. Those were a gift from the Empress herself!- she tutted her disapproval.

-Now you know why I spilled coffee on them,- she mumbled under her breath while getting up, drinking from her mug and walking begrudgingly toward Josephine, who had the first gown ready for her.

In the short moment wherein she placed her coffee on her bedside table and removed the loose shirt she'd slept in (much to Josephine's dismay at discovering she'd neglected the several nightgowns her noble allies had gifted her for months, now laying forgotten in the crate at the foot of her bed), she feared this would be yet another morning wasted trying on gown after gown and discussing what complimented her skin tone or what brought out her hazel eyes. Evey seized the moment her shirt was covering her face to grimace at that idea, and by the time she pulled it over her head, she looked as unaffected as she was able, considering the lingering throb in her temples.

Fortunately, and perhaps because by the second dress she had begged for an elfroot leaf to chew if they couldn't pause long enough to conjure up a health potion, they quickly decided on a teal, silk boatneck gown with a touch of gold embroidery around the neckline. She knew Solas wasn't keen on anyone using the health potions for something as trivial and self-inflicted as a hangover, but if Josephine expected to get anything good out of her that morning, she needed either that or Bull's horrible concoction… And after fifteen minutes of instructions about how she should address Commander Fenris on behalf of the Inquisition, she was progressively more willing to down Bull's disgusting recipe if it would at least kill the pain she was enduring, hopefully leaving her with only the more difficult, patience draining matter of playing "diplomatic Inquisitor" in front of a crowd on which to focus her energy. After all, in the time they had shared with Fenris, she felt she had fostered an understanding, if not a friendship, with the elf, so the idea of speaking to him as if he was just another faceless dignitary (something that she knew for a fact the elf hated) didn't sit well with her, and was only worsening her headache.

As she was bending to tie her ankle boots, Cullen's coin slipped below her neckline, catching Josephine's attention.

-What is that, Inquisitor?

-Oh, this?- she said, trying to sound natural and tucking the coin back inside her dress. -It's just something to give me luck.

She prayed the Ambassador would leave it at that, just as she had when the Antivan used her provenance as justification for her appearance that morning. By the looks of it, this particular prayer was about to be unanswered when she heard someone knocking on the door downstairs, giving her the perfect excuse to leave the subject behind. After all, she didn't know if Cullen would appreciate her saying it had been a gift from him.

-Come in!

As if mentioning his token would have conjured Cullen in spirit if not in body, his messenger ascended the staircase.

-Good morning, Inquisitor. Ambassador,- she nodded to both women respectively. -I'm here to deliver this, Herald.- She held a parchment out for Evey before rushing to clarify, -It's the Commander's report on Commander Fenris. He also wanted me to tell you that if you lack the time to read it before the ceremony, he will make time to debrief you on the generalities.

Evey's face was imperturbable, but inwardly she was beaming, already distinguishing the light at the end of the tunnel of an entire hour going over protocol and propriety, and all thanks to Cullen. But before she could utter a single word, Josephine took the report.

-Tell the Commander not to worry. I'll read it to her while she readies herself.

The messenger looked back at Evelyn, waiting for her confirmation, and the Inquisitor had no other choice but to nod in resignation.

It was going to be a long morning.

oOo

-I saw you sneaking out of the Commander's office last night,- Caleb's voice reverberated through the stables, where Evelyn had gone to inspect the horses that the Inquisition soldiers escorting Fenris would ride for the journey to Jader with Master Dennet.

The poor horsemaster blushed more furiously than even her, and nodded toward the Inquisitor before mumbling an intelligible excuse and walking out of the stables, leaving her with her brother.

Caleb didn't seem affected by the man's obvious discomfort and kept on talking as if nothing had transpired, walking until he was beside Evey at the stall with the pregnant mare.

-I'm also told those are his _quarters_ , as well,- he tutted, reminding her starkly of her childhood governess before her parents understood Evey was less than happy with having to learn embroidery while her brothers trained with dual daggers and broadswords. -Can't you be a little more discreet?

With that, he shattered the illusion, not even needing to imitate the woman's shrill voice to remind her of how she had hated every single hour she'd been forced to spend with the young governess. That is, until her parents found out that she had only taken the position to attempt to seduce Maxwell and secure a permanent place with the most powerful family in Ostwick.

-Said the master of discretion,- she muttered, looking to the side as her brother patted the mare's swollen belly. -And we didn't do anything.

- _Riiiiight_ ,- he stretched the word to annoy her. -The man ended the night racing to his office dressed in nothing but the summer breeze, and you expect me to believe nothing happened.- He raised a brow in disbelief.

-We're not _all_ like you, you know,- she counterattacked, offering an apple to the mare, effectively distracting her from her brother's unwelcome prodding.

Caleb's hand slid all the way to the horse's hindquarters while he stood there, looking at some point on the rear wall of the stall, completely lost in thought, not noticing that the mare had walked to get the treat from his sister.

-That's such a pity.

Evey was about to snap back when she heard Fenris' voice.

-You asked for me, Inquisitor?

-Yes, Fenris, I'm glad you've come.

For all the times her brother teased her, she had to admit that when it came to her duties as Inquisitor, he was quite respectful of her, even if he could never see her as anything but his little sister. So when he noticed that, despite the setting, this seemed to be anything but an informal discussion, he just nodded to them and silently walked away, leaving the two alone in the stables.

-I wanted to show you something,- she said to the elf, moving toward the farthest stall where a beautiful white horse had stayed since arriving one week prior.

Fenris followed her without uttering a word, his face not betraying what he was thinking. When Evelyn reached the horse, she turned to look at him and smiled with what Fenris thought might be a touch of anxiety. At least, that's what her fingers flexing over the stall's wooden door indicated to him.

-Hawke told me you're originally from Tevinter.- Although it wasn't necessarily a question, he felt the need to nod. -He is too,- she smiled, pointing to the horse that was now watching Fenris as if he understood he was being introduced. -He's part of an imposing breed: the Imperial Warmblood. Have you heard of it before?

By now, Fenris was a little confused, questioning why the Inquisitor had summoned him to talk about a Tevinter breed not an hour before he was scheduled to depart the fortress and return to Starkhaven, likely for good. Still, for the thousandth time since arriving, and as he always did whenever he was representing Sebastian, Fenris repressed the more untamed and impatient aspects of his personality and replied in a monotone.

-Yes, my...- He chided himself for that slip into his past, and loathed his own mind and tongue for nearly calling the magister his master. -Danarius had one. He didn't allow anyone near it. He killed it trying to tame it.

He stated the fact coldly, as if he was talking about the weather. Evey nodded, her jaw clenching and her brow morphing into a slight frown.

-A common practice, I'm afraid.- Unsure of what she meant, Fenris looked at her puzzled, so she clarified, -Push an animal to its limits until either it bends or dies. The thing is,- she explained, turning toward the beast, -horses are amazing creatures. They put their trust in you, if you put yours in them.- She placed her open palm in front of the horse's snout and allowed the creature to sniff her. -If they don't like you, they have ways of telling you. That's the way it is with animals in general, but horses have a certain pride that takes the notion to another level.- Evelyn briefly looked over her shoulder at him, and turned when she felt the horse's nose wetting her hand, trying to nudge her hand up until she relented and began to pet it. -Some people think solving that is as simple as breaking their spirit, but it's not.- He understood now the parallels she was subtly establishing, comparing the magisters who chose to torture the animals into obedience with what Danarius had done to him.

His first instinct was a strong desire to storm out of the stables until he found Hawke and Varric to demand an explanation for why this woman knew of his past, and was covertly discussing it with him when he had given her no right to do so.

 _Unless..._ Fenris thought of Sebastian then, of the affection and utter devotion he had seen shining in his eyes whenever he looked at Evelyn, and he feared the Prince had been the one to betray his trust, which made his markings tingle with the first signs of rage.

Her voice took him by surprise, his mind so buried in thoughts of betrayal that he'd forgotten she was there in front of him, trying to drive her point to Maker knew where.

-Doing that is not as easy as most people are led to believe.- For a moment, Fenris had to trace back her last words to remind himself that she was talking about breaking a horse's spirit.- And even if you succeed in it, they will never fully be yours. The second they even smell the chance, they will choose freedom over their oppression every time.- She dropped her hand and ignored the horse when he tried to lure her to pet it again. Then she turned and looked at Fenris with such understanding that the elf was taken aback, the markings that had been about to flare dying before they could shine through. -A horse does not need to be tamed. It needs to find you worthy of trust. No more,- she shook her head, -and no less.

She walked up to him, and for a second Fenris felt tempted to step back, his body naturally on alert.

-I know we didn't start off on the right foot, and that you don't approve of some of the decisions I've made as Inquisitor.- At that, they both thought immediately of Alexius and the day that Fenris had found out she had spared and offered refuge to the Magister. -And I also know that you'll like me even less after the event Josephine has planned for this morning.- Much to his dismay and amazement, Fenris felt the need to smirk at that, having learned in these past few months how affectionate the Ambassador was for pomp and circumstance, and Evelyn's subsequent hate for all the unnecessary ceremonies. -…But I wanted to let you know, _extra officially_ ,- she smiled, emphasizing her words, -how much I appreciate your help, and how grateful I am for the efforts you've made to respect our differences of opinions.- She paused and then offered him the Imperial Warmblood's reins. -I thought this might be the best way to do so.

That took Fenris by surprise, and even as he grasped the reins, his mind was still trying to comprehend what had just happened. Imperial Warmbloods were reserved for the most eminent and powerful magisters in the Imperium, the mounts nothing more than another way of touting their high status and power. Indeed, the horses were about as unattainable as Danarius' reputation for most members of the magisterium, who found themselves bested time and again when, no matter how many assassins they hired, his despicable former master would show up the next day in the Imperial Senate purely to dedicate a predatory smile to the person who had dared try to kill him, his single farewell gift before the conspirator was found stabbed to death in a dark alley the next morning, or poisoned in his own home, begging for the merciful blade of a crow's knife. Now, as ironic as it had been that the powerful Magister had met his end at the hands of his former "pet", Evelyn Trevelyan, Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste, was offering him, a former Tevinter slave, the highest sign of power and stature in the Imperium.

The thought of Danarius dying all over again merely at sight of Fenris riding this horse nearly made him grin.

Carefully, and without even think about it, he stepped up to the horse and mimicked Evelyn's actions, petting the beast when he allowed it. But this time, the horse simply lowered his massive head, offering it to him as if acknowledging they had come from similar origins.

That fact, coupled with the sight of his lyrium markings blending perfectly with the white horse's mane, made his heart ache and pushed him to turn, looking for Evelyn to express his gratitude. By the time he did, though, the Inquisitor was already gone.

oOo

It wasn't until four hours later that Evelyn managed to steal a moment of peace.

Fenris' farewell ceremony had gone off without a hitch, according to Josephine. She was still somewhat disappointed that the Inquisitor had forbidden her from making a display of the situation, one worthy of a figure of the elf's importance, but despite that, the Ambassador felt closer to pride than disappointment. That is, until two hours ago, when the Inquisitor and her three Advisors had gathered in the War Room.

Everything had developed peacefully until half an hour into the meeting. They had reviewed Rylen's reports from the Approach about the advances of Harding's team exploring the region of the Hissing Wastes, and how they had proceed to The Forbidden Oasis the next day after they'd left their findings on the desert in the Knight Captain's hands. They had also discussed, yet again, distant relatives of House Trevelyan who had been successfully silenced thanks to Leliana's idea of spreading a rumor about assassins being keen on stopping anyone who had connections with the Inquisitor's family, all to gain an advantage in any and all confrontations they might have. Now there was another line of gossip, apparently, about how the Inquisitor had all but seized control of Starkhaven, using her supposed romantic connection with the Prince to usurp the throne and rob the City State of whatever they so desired.

Despite the seriousness of the claims, the distant relatives seeking revenge had a ringleader, a Bann by the name of Dorner, who led a group of people Evelyn had never met, the closest to her being a five times removed cousin which, in the Inquisitor's frank opinion, should not even be considered a relative anymore. After all, she would have a hard time considering someone with _that_ distant a connection as anyone akin to family, at least not anyone who wasn't Dorian.

The problem would be easily solved, though. Bann Dorner ran a successful business in Antiva, but the Inquisition, or more accurately Josephine, had connections in those lands. The kinds of connections that would gladly raise taxes on Dorner's transactions, something that no one doubted would give the Bann enough trouble to make spending time on anything other than keeping his business afloat impossible. Without the head of their vengeance team, the rest would quickly desist, and by the time Caleb returned to Trevelyan lands, this whole ordeal would be behind them.

Bann Dorner, however, had unknowingly bestowed Evelyn with yet another problem, and that one was not going to be solved as easily.

-Speaking of, Inquisitor, I trust you are in the process of sending Ambassador Adair confirmation of your engagement to the Prince, soon enough.- Evey's mouth dropped open, but Josephine didn't give her a chance to speak. -A letter expressing once again your gratitude for the lending of troops and Commander Fenris' assistance is also a kind gesture, but is after all required of you. Keeping the Prince waiting is another matter entirely, and the sooner we begin preparations for the wedding, the better.

With that simple intervention, and with all the serenity that characterized her, Josephine had elicited a vast variety of emotions from both Evelyn and Cullen that she would have been surprised by, had she known, especially considering she had already stripped the Commander nude in a literal sense, rendering this figurative way of leaving him once again completely exposed and vulnerable more than unnecessary. What had begun that way, though, was quickly morphing to anger, something that Evelyn noticed by the way in which Cullen began to grip the edge of the war table, his eyes fixed on the map markers in his attempt to keep his remarks at bay.

If she was honest, she could hardly blame Cullen for this reaction when she had felt something similar.

She knew for a fact that Josephine wasn't doing this to hurt them, but the way she had simply assumed that her answer for Sebastian would be a positive one pained her, and no amount of insistence from her conscience, reminding her that the Ambassador was unaware of her involvement with Cullen, could dim that feeling. Perhaps she should have been grateful that Sebastian had taken the time to stop Adair from informing Josephine that Evelyn had already, in point of fact, given him an answer, but the day where the Antivan would find out for herself would have to come sometime. Evey just wished it had been later rather than sooner.

None of this, nevertheless, stopped her from answering in what she later would realize was a sharper tone than intended.

-Sebastian left Skyhold with my answer, Josephine, though I imagine it wasn't what you've assumed to be the only possible response to his proposal.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Cullen exhale deeply.

What followed was nearly a full hour of Josephine explaining why she should reconsider the Prince's offer, and how she could write to him to get him to reaffirm his proposal, giving her another chance to "do the right thing". It had been then when Evelyn had lost all patience and exploded.

-Josephine, -she began, her tone revealing her emotional state and warning the Ambassador not to interrupt her,- since the moment I awoke in my cell back at Haven, I've given _everything_ I am to the Inquisition, and I think I've done it with minimal complaint.- She briefly looked up and crossed glances with a nodding Leliana, Cullen still looking at the map, though less tense than before. -I've followed your advice even when I wasn't comfortable with the things you were proposing, and I've taken the diplomatic road at every opportunity to grant the Inquisition enough power and leverage to keep as many people happy as we were able to.- She paused, raising her eyes after a deep sigh to find Cullen looking at her, a fire in his eyes that she was not ready to explore in that moment. -…But this is where I draw the line. My private life is my own, and I'm afraid this is where no amount of negotiation on your part is going to change my mind.- After seeing the look of misery in Josie's eyes, she decided to concede part of the way. -Sebastian is a good man, one from whom I would have accepted such a proposal before. But not now, no matter how beneficial that might be for the Inquisition. I choose who to be with, and I've already chosen.

After that, Josephine had been contrite, and had asked the Inquisitor to forgive her if she had given the impression that she was trying to take over the reins of her life. She honestly wasn't; she was merely pointing out what, to her eyes, was the best course of action both for Evelyn as a woman and as the Inquisitor. Of course, the Ambassador was unaware, as far as Cullen and Evey knew, of the relationship they had or the real reasons behind the Inquisitor's decision, so they could hardly blame her for trying to involve their leader with a powerful head of state, who just so happened to be a man genuinely after Evey's heart.

None of that, though, made it better for Cullen.

As soon as the meeting was adjourned, he stacked his papers, nodded to the three women, and stormed out of the War Room as if the Maker Himself had demanded his presence in His office. After all that time listening to Josephine sing Sebastian's praises and the final confrontation with Evelyn, where she had basically spelled out that she was already emotionally involved with someone else, he needed to put some distance between them, for he was not certain he could refrain from taking Evey by the waist and kissing her with the desperation he'd felt up until she stopped Josephine's attempts to convince her and made it clear she would not allow the discussion to go any further. He also wanted to show Josephine what the Inquisitor had meant by "I've already chosen," even as his chest still ached with emotion at hearing her say it aloud.

He hoped Evey had understood the heated look he had given her as he passed by, or the significant brush of his fingers on hers as he rounded the war table to where she was, trying his best to remain casual while walking around her to touch her right hand, hidden from Josephine and Leliana's eyes. The last thing he wanted, the last he _needed_ , was her thinking she'd offended him for not disclosing their relationship, or that he was in any way put off by her surreptitious declaration.

When that last thought crossed his mind, working became futile, and after getting stuck on one report for over half an hour, reading it without comprehension and only realizing afterwards so that he was forced to read again, he decided to step out and get some air to clear his head.

Knowing that walking through the battlements would do nothing to ease his mind, with the many soldiers and couriers seizing every opportunity to ask him a question or deliver a message, he decided to leave his office through the southern door leading to the bridge connecting the fortress with the ramparts.

He glanced off to his right and took in the sight of Skyhold's residents going back to their usual lives after the commotion that morning, but then a laugh he knew all too well floated up from somewhere behind him, so he turned to look over the other side of the bridge.

And there she was, in the courtyard near the refugees' tents, standing next to her brother and with a couple who were handing her some kind of bundle that she happily took in her arms.

It was the way she took it that triggered Cullen's memory. He recognized the couple now. He remembered how worried the man had been, pacing the battlements over and over while the healers tended to his wife, how everyone had cooperated to help them settle in Skyhold after they'd been brought from the Inquisition's camp in the Hinterlands, where they had been underfed, tired and wounded after they had been caught in the middle of a fight between mages and templars. He remembered the collective solidarity from everyone in Skyhold to help them overcome the trauma of losing the woman's father to his wounds, all the efforts to keep the man's wife safe, warm and well fed, while trying to reassure him that everything would be all right. He even recalled how Evelyn herself had offered her horse to the mount rotation Cullen had established especially for the woman to make sure she didn't walk more than the physicians recommended on their way to Skyhold. The baby she was carrying, after all, was going to be the first born under the Inquisition.

The very same day they arrived at the Hinterland's camp, the healers had tended to the woman's injuries, where they found out she was _seven_ months along, not five, as the couple had previously estimated, and that the condition of the baby was stable. The couple had lost everything, however, and it had been then that Evelyn decided to send for them.

They were simple folk, and when the woman and her baby had been deemed completely out of danger, the man had requested a position in the army. Cullen had refused, recognizing that he was terrified by the idea of becoming a soldier and was only enlisting out of gratitude for what they had done for them. Instead, the man had taken up learning the trade of blacksmithing, and was now one of the best apprentices the armory had on offer.

Now, for the first time since the baby was born two months prior, they had brought it out of their bedroom, where the woman had secluded herself since birth, following the teachings of her mother. By the looks of it, they were now introducing their daughter to the Inquisitor, who was holding the baby with such tenderness that it made Cullen feel as if the floor under his feet had given way.

He had never thought about it in his life. He had never truly felt the need to, and even less the desire to. But now, seeing her cradling that baby made him reconsider everything, and filled him with so many thoughts at once that he felt lightheaded.

The image of Evey splayed below him, over him, on her side or in any other way she might want to take him was the first one to assault him. It was hardly a rare scenario in his mind, if he was honest, especially as of late, but now watching her hold the baby in one arm while the other stroked one soft and feeble strand of dark hair on her head, the familiar fantasy came to him with a difference that made his heart burst. He saw her coming to him without having taken any contraceptive measure, her asking him to give her a child, to start a family with her, to let go.

So he did let go, standing there in the bridge, watching her as if they were the only three beings in all of Skyhold, just her, him and the baby who, in his mind, had changed from two month old girl with the olive complexion and dark hair to another one with her ivory skin and both their blonde hair, newly born in her mother's arms. And then he pictured Evey, raising her eyes from the baby and looking at him with the same smile he prayed he would one day see on their daughter, whispering how she loved him.

Cullen's eyes closed tightly on that image, trying to stop himself from taking it further, from imagining a life he didn't know whether he could dream, because then, as he let go of those hopes and came back to the reality ahead of him, he thought of the impossibility of his fantasies.

How could he give her a child when he couldn't even find the courage to tell her that he loved her? To let her know she was his everything and that his life had only gained meaning and value to him after meeting her? How could he think of her bearing his child when he hadn't even undressed her, or kissed anywhere beyond her lips and neck? The only reason he had seen her naked had been Varric's prank for Maker's sake, and the guilt of spying on her had not even allowed him to enjoy her as he had always dreamed. Furthermore, how could he think of something so intimate when he had scarcely touched her, had barely explored the contours of her breast in the dark after she had guided his hand? How could he believe it would ever come to pass when he had nothing to offer her, when he didn't even know if she planned to stay with him after they defeated Corypheus, let alone having him in her bed, in her body?

 _Cullen_ , she called in his mind, her voice tinged with the desire he'd felt that night in the tent.

That voice, those sounds… Even if everything ended there, if he'd died that night, delusional from something besides his lyrium withdrawal, he would carry her voice sighing his name forever in his heart, her hands exploring him as far as she dared, her body arching below his to reach him.

Her, nursing their child while humming the same song she had hummed for him so many months ago while he was lost between the waves of withdrawal, giving him a wooden board to hold onto, a shore whereupon to rest, a salvation to reach.

-Maker, I need help,- he whispered.

 _No, you don't. You need her,_ his mind argued.

Yes, and if seeing her holding a baby made him realize anything, it was that he needed her more than he had ever thought, something that just half an hour ago, he wouldn't have thought possible.

If only things were as simple as he imagined them to be.

Lost in thought, looking at her without the shackles of his restraint and discipline that usually came to his aid to stop him from disclosing his deepest desires in front of others, he hadn't noticed Caleb stealing glances toward the bridge while standing behind his sister, nor the sound of a door opening to his right.

-Basking in the wonders of the promise of motherhood laying dormant in your beloved?

Cullen turned, startled by Dorian, but his face relaxed, and he almost looked defeated if a bit defensive. He opened his mouth to speak, but the mage stopped him short, walking toward him with a hand raised in the air.

-Don't even _try_ to deny it. Varric told me what happened after you raided the Shrine.- Cullen's shoulders slumped at that. -And in case you're curious, yes, it _is_ that transparent, even without the information I have. One has to only see how you look at her to realize there's something other than devotion to your leader in your eyes.

Cullen considered denying Dorian's words, to keep pretending the only thing of notice was in the mage's imagination, but it felt useless at that point and, all of a sudden, he realized he didn't want to. He could use a friend, and even if Dorian might not be the most discreet man, he knew at least that he was one of Evey's closest friends and, if Cullen was honest with himself, also the closest thing he had to a confidant in a long time. Furthermore, he suspected Dorian had known what had happened the day Evey returned from the Exalted Plains, and by the looks of it, he was willing to at least give Cullen the benefit of the doubt, for the mage had begun to treat him naturally again after months of avoiding him and looking at him like someone who had betrayed his trust.

Cullen couldn't blame him for it. He could only imagine what it had been for Dorian to see Evey enter the rotunda after he'd attacked her. But contrary to Solas, who still looked at Cullen with reservations, Dorian had progressively renewed contact with the Commander, up to the point where, while Evey was away on a mission with her companions a few days before, the Tevinter mage had finally resumed their weekly chess match in the garden, albeit more silently than they used to be, focusing on more mundane topics to pass the time instead of the teasing and prodding for information Cullen was accustomed to.

Now, despite his taunting attitude, the mage seemed to be reaching for him, and after months alone with his thoughts and fears, Cullen couldn't help but confide in him.

-What am I going to do, Dorian?

-Well, if you need instructions on how to make her a mother, I fear you have bigger problems than I thought.

Cullen placed his hands on a crate that was still inexplicably in the middle of the bridge despite his many orders to clear that area, and leaned on it, watching Evey hand the baby to her mother in the distance. He sighed and refused to acknowledge the mage's taunt. Still, he smirked bitterly toward Dorian to make sure he understood that he had not found his joke offensive, just disappointing. It was so frustrating to finally try opening up to someone only to find mockery waiting for him. He knew it was a defense mechanism for the mage, and had heard many use that tactic before, Evey among them, and he usually didn't mind. But now he needed something else, and Dorian didn't appear willing to provide him with it. Fearing the mage would not be as open to a serious talk as he had hoped, he pushed himself up again and considered excusing himself back to his office, not fully hiding a frown as he thought of going back there alone with his thoughts.

Dorian, though, was more sensible than Cullen was giving him credit for, and followed the Commander's train of thought as if he were reading it in one of the man's concise reports.

-...Probably for the best, though,- he continued his joke, noticing how Cullen's disappointment grew. -War is hardly the best time to bring a child into the world, though nobody told _them_ that, apparently.

He pointed to the couple, and Cullen couldn't help but smirk at that. It was true, and it had been the first thing that had crossed his mind when Evey had come to his office to tell him the news. What kind of people decided to have a baby when war between mages and templars brewed right on their doorstep, not to mention the tear in the sky? He could understand it from people up north, where the situation with the mage rebellion was slightly more contained, or even in noble houses where the parents could ensure the security of the child, but in the south? Where demons were crawling from tears in the Fade and settlements where caught in the middle of a war between templars and apostates? That was another thing entirely.

-What's really troubling you, Cullen?

The question caught him by surprise, especially considering the change of tone their conversation took with those simple words. Dorian was serious now, something that Cullen was not sure he had seen in him before. He had witnessed the mage in complete despair when they thought Evey had died at Adamant, and had seen him sulking in Skyhold after he came back from Redcliffe and the meeting with his father, but this? _This_ was new. This was probably what Evey had seen in him all along: a confidant, a friend, someone to rely on, who now, out of nowhere, was reaching out to him.

Dorian's question was more easily asked than answered. In fact, a simpler approach would have been to tell him what was _not_ troubling him about her. Everything about Evelyn Trevelyan seemed to make Cullen's whole existence shake. More times than not, that happened in a good way, and he found himself realizing he was more alive now in the middle of the war, with their whole existence and that of Thedas in danger, with every day nothing short of a miracle under the threat of Corypheus and the tearing Veil, than he had felt in any other moment in his life. But then, as the memory of her presence dimmed enough to take him out of that state of blessed intoxication that he fell into every time she was near him, those same feelings that filled him with nothing but joy and love, came back to haunt him and feed his insecurities, pointing out the fact that he was nothing but a broken man and he was pulling her to his side despite knowing that he was far from the best person she could have chosen.

Yet as he felt himself more unworthy by the day, his sense of possessiveness and selfishness fed on each of her kisses, on every time she pronounced his name, her voice failing, interrupted by a moan or his own lips pressing over hers, each time she reached for him, each moment she scraped out of her busy schedule just to look for his company to be close to him, if only to steal a kiss on the battlements. It was like fighting a war inside himself as well, one that he feared would mean more than the world to him.

And now, on top of that and Josephine's less than graceful commentary a few hours ago in the war room, he'd had _another_ fantasy, _another_ impossibility to add, _another_ desire that he feared would be too much, too soon, and would lead him down a path where she was not willing to follow him…

One of a future together.

Completely at a loss on where to begin, he raised his eyes pleadingly to look back at Dorian.

-Ah, that bad?- The mage walked toward him and placed a hand on his back, turning him toward his office, just as Caleb led his sister to the stone steps behind them. -I'm not an expert on women by any stretch, but together, we might be able to figure something out.


	58. Chapter 58

Chapter 58: A Night For Us

In general, nights in the Hissing Wastes were breathtakingly beautiful. As in any desert, the temperature dropped drastically when the sun went away, but this was perfectly tolerable and even pleasant after an entire day of running through the sands, sweating until their skin began to chafe from the confinement, excess of salt, and friction from their armors. The dual moons provided them with enough light to set up camp without issue, even in situations when the night tended to sneak up on them. The air cooled their bodies and kept them clean after they managed to wash away some of the grime and sand of the day, be it by the help of a blessed oasis or simply by changing clothes and dabbing themselves with a wet rag. The wind was rarely too strong to make it impossible to enjoy the night that, again, in theory, was a wonderful break from the unyielding sunlight. There was just one, insidious little annoying component tainting the lovely atmosphere, and it usually became evident with a stinging slap.

-Andraste's...- Evelyn stopped herself from going down the path of Varric's colorful blasphemy as the red handprint began to surface on her arm. -I can deal with Venatori, I can manage the Red Templars, but I swear, these mosquitoes make me consider quitting the Inquisition...- She paused with her hand in the air, ready to slap herself again as her eyes followed a mosquito currently preying on her. -And I'm the bloody Inquisitor!

Dorian was about to speak when Sera dropped to the floor, arching her back until she only touched the sand with her shoulder blades and heels. She bent her head forward to look at her pants and began to unlace them, not caring that everyone was watching. Then she stuck her hand behind her and to what they all thought was her backside.

-Feckin' bloodsucking winged demon thingies!- She accidentally rolled on her side after she lost balance, and everyone could see she was actually scratching the back of her thigh while grunting.

Dorian simply shook his head, as if he was watching a dog lick itself, and turned toward Evey.

-I keep telling you, if you would just use the cream I offered you...- he said while pouring hot water into a cup with such serenity and grace that one almost forgot the cup was made from tin instead of porcelain.

-You know I hate creams Dorian; they make me feel like my skin can't breathe!

-You realize that is a rather uncivilized thing to say for a lady, don't you?- The look she gave him was practically the same one she had given the mosquito, which just flew from her hands after she opened them, convinced that she had killed it while Dorian spoke. - Besides, you don't seem too pleased that your skin can breathe now. _Look_ at you, all covered in welts.

-Pissbucket shitebag!- Sera interrupted again, leaping up with her pants hanging low, knocking an arrow in her bow and turning to locate her attacker.

Dorian just sighed as if he were being forced to explain the same thing for the millionth time.

-You can't kill mosquitoes with an arrow, Sera.

-I can _try!_ \- and then she jumped in place, dropping her bow. -Frigging pissface!- She screamed and clapped the air, opening her hands cautiously afterwards.- Ha! I won, son of an arse biscuit...

-Sera!- Evey stopped her before her shouting alerted the whole of the Venatori in the Hissing Wastes of their presence, but as the elf looked at her both with satisfaction for killing the mosquito and a growing pout at being berated, the Inquisitor slapped her neck. -You son of a...

-Inquisitor,- warned Dorian in a smug tone, delighted at how the roles had reversed in so little time. Then he turned to Sera, who was yet again trying to reach her leg from beneath her pants, leaning over the opposite side as she sat down. -I wonder if it's a female thing when it comes to elves. Solas seems immune to them.

Sera simply mumbled what everyone thought might be more cursing, ignoring Dorian completely.

-She already confronted him once about it,- Evey replied, toning down the memory of the exchange between the two elves, turning Sera's insulting demands for answers from Solas into something of a civilized conversation. -He just smirked and said that maybe they found his blood too strong. She accused it of being to 'elfy'.- She slapped her crossed leg and raised her hand for him to see a dead mosquito surrounded by a small puddle of coagulated blood that, even when small in her hand, was significantly larger that anyone would have expected to come from inside such a small bug.

- _Eugh_ , you're lucky Josephine isn't here to see this,- Dorian grimaced at the evidence of her victory, still staining her hand.

-Ughh! _That's it!_ \- Sera announced from their side when another mosquito bit her, and without another audible word beyond a myriad of mumbled curses below her breath, she retired to the tent where Cassandra was already sleeping.

After that, silence reigned for a while, interrupted periodically by Evelyn's slaps and the sounds of fennecs running through the sand, on their evening hunt.

It was only when they heard snoring coming out of the women's tent that Dorian found his voice again.

-So... you and the Commander.- Almost on cue, she felt her face warm more than if she had slapped herself across the cheek. Dorian's smile then appeared, as wolfish as always and right on time to face her poor attempt to play aloof. -Don't even try to deny it, and since escaping isn't an option either, considering we have the first shift, how about you put on some of this cream and tell me all about it?- She looked at the cream pot he was offering, an inquisitive eyebrow raised, wondering what one thing had to do to with the other and lashing her head back in retreat when a mosquito appeared in her line of sight. -After all, blushing only makes you more attractive to them.

Sighing in light of her defeat, Evelyn took the cream and prepared herself for all the questions that were already shining in her friend's eyes.

oOo

A few days later, as they were coming back from clearing the main Venatori camp and climbing the closest mountain, where she had come up with the magnificent idea to set one of the camps and that she was currently regretting with all her soul, a messenger caught them midway. It was evident that the man had thought he would have to venture to the Venatori camp, fearful that the Inquisitor had yet to kill the cultists, so when they practically stumbled upon one another at the end of a steep turn where the road barely had room for a small caravan, the man sighed so deeply in relief that she heard the three friends at her back trying with varied amounts of success to hide their laughter.

-Thank the Maker, messere.- The messenger, a Marcher considering the form he chose to address her, looked at her as if she could be called the Herald of Andraste just for saving him the journey through the desert. -News for you,- he simply added, handling her a couple of reports and a small letter.

One was from The Western Approach, where Rylen informed her he would be sending the supplies she required in four days, adding also that Solas was back at the fortress, which was partially redundant considering the other report carried her friend's handwriting, relating his findings on the ancient elvhen temple of Solasan where she had left him with a couple of soldiers before coming back with Blackwall and Vivienne to where Cassandra, Sera and Dorian were waiting for them to relieve the others from their duty and follow the Inquisitor to the Hissing Wastes.

As they all walked back to the camp up the mountain at a slower pace, she read both reports absently, even as her hand clutched tightly at what was evidently a raven message, one that she hoped was from Cullen. The morning she left Skyhold had also been when her brother had gone home, so between Josephine's modest sendoff celebration (she had tersely forbidden the Ambassador from organizing yet another gathering, this time in her brother's honor) and her own preparations to travel to the Forbidden Oasis, she hardly found the time to get to Cullen's office in search of a kiss she could take with her to help her get through the weeks away from him that awaited her. Unfortunately, they had only brushed their lips together when Cullen's courier arrived at his office in time to see him with his hand on her waist, that same fierce look in his eyes that Jim had talked to the poor soldier about. The messenger barely had time to announce that Ambassador Josephine was asking for them before Cullen dismissed her harshly, turning his attention on the Inquisitor even before the woman was completely out the door. The kiss that came after that still made her heart race in her chest, its memory enough to make her want to take her horse and ride nonstop until she could see Skyhold's gates.

Her whimper of disappointment was louder than she had hoped, for that's when she opened the letter and found her brother's handwriting instead of Cullen's.

 _I arrived home safely. Mother doesn't know about C but is furious with you about S._

She chuckled, silently thanking her brother for keeping his promise.

-Not one Word about Cullen, promise me.

They had been at the intersection where the Imperial Highway crossed with a road to Jader, where Caleb would take a ship to Ostwick. Evey's friends had allowed them some privacy after saying their goodbyes. Now, before Evey did the same, she had decided she still needed to warn him yet again about what he should and shouldn't do once he reached their family estate and, more importantly, their mother.

-You know she'll ask. She might not know about him, but she'll get suspicious once I tell her about Vael.- She raised her eyebrow at that, as she so often did when she was just about to concoct a plan, so Caleb stopped her. -Don't,- he said, refusing her idea even before she could voice it. -You know I should at least tell her that.

-I know,- she nodded in defeat. -Still, I want to tell her about Cullen on my own terms.

This time it was Caleb who raised an eyebrow, his characteristic smug smile spreading over his lips.

-You mean by letter?

-That is the only way I have available at the moment, yes.- They both knew that was just an excuse. -Unless you think a cryptic raven message would be more appropriate.

Her threat, though worrisome considering the news of their mother's only daughter in a relationship with her own Commander landing on their mother via a short raven message was due to make her unbearable to live with, didn't affect her brother's smile, which only widened, receiving the threat and sending it back to her as only a sibling could do.

-Only if you want her in Skyhold for the rest of the summer.

For a second, thinking of her mother fretting over the many times her "little girl" risked her life per week, and how changed she looked from the innocent young lady living in the Chantry, made Evelyn pale.

-Letter it is, then,- she nodded, looking out at the distance beyond her brother's shoulder as if she could see their mother riding towards them. Then she relaxed and hugged Caleb, her throat suddenly constricting upon thinking that seeing her family together again wouldn't be such a bad idea, even in the midst of war, or maybe precisely because they were in a war and therefore could forever lose the opportunity to see each other again at any moment. -Send love to everyone. Tell them I miss them greatly.

Caleb hugged her back, lifting her from the floor as he usually did. When he finally replied, Evey thought she heard his voice crack.

-We miss you too, baby girl.

He let her stand on her own again, but wouldn't release her quite yet.

-Take care, please.

oOo

She was late. All of them were.

The message had been clear:

 _The Inquisitor will arrive at Skyhold on the evening of the 25th._

Knight Captain Rylen had written, sending a raven to the fortress where Leliana had made sure to deliver the news to Josephine and himself.

That had been four days ago, and he had been waiting ever since.

This was the kind of thing that got on his nerves. In time, he had learned how to deal with his lyrium withdrawal. He had found a way to interact with obnoxious nobles demanding all kinds of things from him without any right to demand such things. He had managed to turn raw recruits into full fledged soldiers, and had traipsed through Halamshiral with the weight of fighting in an unknown territory, knowing he needed to do it for the Inquisition. Even before this, he had endured the trials life had put in his path as best as he could, emerging somewhat victorious. And yet this, of all things, was what he was beginning to think would truly end him. Each time she was delayed, each day that passed without news of her or the sound of the horn announcing her return, was another that weighed on him more viciously than his withdrawal had ever done. He had experienced what it was like to think her dead during the siege of Adamant, walked that path and prayed to never look upon it again, and that had been when thinking of confessing his feelings, or having them return, was beyond his wildest dreams. Now, with a mind filled with memories of her, of her taste, her touch, her smile and laugh, her eyes looking at him with such love and devotion that she almost made him feel unworthy, the idea of losing her was so consuming that had kept him awake for the better part of the last four nights.

Josephine and Leliana had dismissed his worries when, unable to stand the waiting any longer, he had brought the subject up during their last War Council. They said she had probably been delayed by some minor thing in the road, but Cullen feared that "minor thing" would end up being a dragon or a Venatori ambush. And those were only two of the grim situations his mind conjured whenever he lowered his guard. He just wanted her here with him, safe in his arms again, and if not that, at least inside Skyhold where he could look after her from afar.

But destiny seemed to have other plans and still held another day of torture for him, long enough to make him consider leaving the piles of papers accumulating on his desk, going to the stables disregarding that it was well past midnight, and demand a horse to ride until he or the animal dropped dead or they found her.

-Maker, I need to calm down,- he said to himself in the solitude of his office, and he picked up another report to read, and another after that, and then another just for good measure. His advance through them was slow, and he was making considerably less progress than he would have if half his mind wasn't so focused on trying to ignore the other quarter presenting him with waking nightmares of his worst fears over and over, turning the simple task of concentrating on reports from the Wardens at Haven into something akin to swimming in the lake near Skyhold in the middle of winter without catching his death.

As the hours passed, his lids began to sink closed over and over, often shutting himself from the reports and making the letters dance whenever he was able to keep them open. Holding his head in his hand, his elbow pressed against the mahogany, was his next mistake. In less than a minute he was gone, traveling to the Fade, finding the rest he had neglected for days, mixing the sounds of Skyhold with the wobbly images that were barely forming in his mind, welcoming him to a realm that could show him the most beautiful fantasy as easily as it could submerge him in his worst nightmare.

The nature of what awaited him in the Fade had yet to be revealed when the portcullis opened below him, allowing the Inquisitor to enter, followed closely by half of her inner circle. Cullen's mind incorporated that sound into his dreams until he found himself standing in front of a gatehouse that could very well be Skyhold's, but could also be part of any fortification his mind had chosen to conjure. He would never know which one it was, for the moment the image began to clarify, he heard steps approaching, so close that it could have never been from his imagination, the sound too real for confusion. And then a voice joined, and Cullen awoke just in time to hear a soldier saluting from the other side of his door.

-Welcome home, Inquisitor.

He was at the door in less than three strides, opening it so violently that it banged against the wall, but he didn't care. The door could have exploded in splinters and he wouldn't have even looked back at it. The bloody thing couldn't be farther from his thoughts. In his mind, there was only her, and the need to get to wherever she was, praying to the Maker that his dreams had not betrayed him by making him hear things that had no place in the real world.

In his haste, he walked out the door without taking the time to actually look at his surroundings, so desperate to find her in the dark of the night that he didn't see her before he collided with her body, barely catching her in time before she could fall to the floor.

-Oh, I'm sorry! Are you alright?- he asked, raising his hands from her upper arms to cradle her face. He tried to look her over as best he could, checking if he had hurt her while also making sure the reason for her delay had not been from a wound she might be hiding, which shortly prompted him to lower one of his hands to her side, tracing her curves as if he could feel whether she was well by touch alone, by feeling her with the tips of his fingers, alive and safe.

Without even realizing they were out in the open, Cullen pressed his forehead to hers, breathing her scent, convincing himself that this was real and not a dream, and he leaned slowly toward her, searching for the lips he had missed beyond counting. But instead of the kiss he yearned for, he found her fingertips pressing against his mouth, stopping him.

He opened his eyes that had somehow closed without his awareness and saw her smiling beautifully at him.

-Let's go inside,- she said softly, her eyes looking to the side to indicate a flabbergasted soldier who had stopped in his tracks when the Commander had all but stomped out of his office and taken the Inquisitor in his arms.

After that the rumors were inevitable, so when he stepped into his office, he made sure to do so while holding her hand in his. To the Void with gossip! She was home after five days and four nights of fretting over her, after a whole month of waiting for her return. They could talk all they wanted. He was not about to let her go now.

He had not yet locked the door he'd just closed when she buried her face in his chest, holding him as if he was her salvation, breathing him in and making him thank the Maker that he had decided to leave his armor on the stand behind her, allowing her to feel him close, to hear his heart racing faster as she drew near him, as she brushed her lips over the fabric of his shirt until she found his neck and kissed him softly there, never wanting to let him go after so long apart.

He held her, too, lowering his head until his lips touched her head, marveling at the fact that beyond the smell of dirt, sand, leather and grass, he could still catch the jasmine scent that had become so iconic of her, reveling in her breath over his chest, warming his heart even further as it beat in time with his, pumping frantically against his skin as if it were telling him how much she had missed him. And as her hands began to roam over his back, he couldn't hold it any longer and, tilting her head, he leaned to catch her lips again, barely noticing that her skin was warmer than usual, her lips slightly chapped, and the hair now spilling between his fingers more tangled than it should be. None of that mattered, though, when she parted her lips and her tongue touched his, deepening a kiss long overdue and giving Cullen his soul back, one that he had entrusted to her when he last kissed her, and now came back to him with the touch of her soft mouth.

When the kiss ended, she hid her face beneath his jaw, brushing her lips on his neck, sighing softly, content to have him here with her. But as much as he enjoyed her gentle touch, he needed to see her, needed to check for himself that she was alright, that nothing had happened to her while he was unable to protect her.

-Evey, let me look at you,- he said after caressing her head and nudging her jaw softly didn't work. -I need to see you.

She raised her face, and he almost lost his ability to speak.

Maker but she was beautiful!

Her skin was darker, tanned by the sun in the desert, making her eyes appear brighter, the hazel there looking more like moss green than the honeyed tone he was used to. Her hair was in complete disarray, proof that she hadn't wasted a second before searching him out once she arrived at Skyhold. Her lips were parched around the edges, the usual pink color a darker shade of red, no doubt chapped by the dry wind of the desert, though not as much as to fear that his kisses would sting her, instead triggering a need to lose himself in them until they made up for lost time.

She felt his eyes like a physical caress, following them along their path around her face, drinking in her every feature, every detail that had been so clear in his mind but that now seemed new, more wonderful and beautiful than he remembered, more… unique. And perfect…

By now, the intensity of his eyes whenever he looked at her was a familiar sensation, but no less overwhelming, so after a few seconds of him silently contemplating her while absently brushing her lower lip with his thumb, she couldn't help but drop her eyes to the floor, feeling a telltale blush creeping up her neck.

-We...- She tried to break the silence, failing in finding her voice and clearing her throat softly before trying again, watching his smile at her nervousness from the corner of her eyes. -We ran out of sun ointment and...- She pointed her tanned face.

Cullen's smile widened when he thought of the desert sun devouring her ivory skin the way he wanted to feast on every inch of her body, touching her until she could carry him like she now carried the mark of the sun, making her feel as hot and flustered as she might had felt the first night she was exposed without ointment to protect her, but then soothing her fevered flesh until his presence was like a balm, an oasis in the middle of the desert where she could sate her desires until she climbed to the peak of her pleasure, only to fall in his arms like she would into the fresh water of a lake after spending a whole day being kissed by the sun.

-You look beautiful,- he whispered as he leaned down to kiss her again, his hand raising from her back to cradle the nape of her neck, his thumb brushing her neck until she flinched almost imperceptibly… But that was enough to make him lower his hand, his face morphing from a peaceful, loving expression to one of dreadful fear.

-What happened?- he asked, already looking behind her head, lifting her hair carefully until he unveiled tender pink flesh, barely healed from a five inch wound that crept up her head and into her hairline. -You're _hurt_ ,- he said in a tone that sounded as if he had been wounded in that moment, timidly caressing her neck below the healing scar now marring her nape.

-It's nothing.- She tried to undermine the importance of something that, after all, was just a minor injury, and not even the first time she had been wounded in that exact spot. While raiding the quarry in Sahrnia a few months ago, she had thought she would have a permanent mark going up her neck and marring her right earlobe when she failed to completely dodge a Red Templar sword, only to then realize the mark had disappeared a few weeks later, a small nick in the shell of her ear the only evidence that it had been there at all.

This wound was bigger and, even if nothing would have pushed her to admit it to Cullen, had been deep enough to leave a real scar that no amount of health potions could hide, but even then, she didn't find it as intimidating as he had. After all, she had met nobles with the same scars from falling on their backs when they were but toddlers learning to walk.

But for Cullen it meant more than that. It served as proof that she was always at risk, that every time she left the safety of the keep, there was a chance that she wouldn't come back with merely a small mark on her skin, but would never come back at all. It meant that someday he might lose her, that one day, he might kiss her for the last time, holding her without knowing that the next mission would be her last, the one where something "small" would turn into something big, and she would fall, taking his life along with her.

He was frowning now, barely brushing the tip of his thumb over the new scar and feeling himself relax when she didn't flinch again, his jaw clenched and his other hand caressed the other side of her head, burying his fingers in her hair. And then he was kissing her again, his lips pressed over hers, his eyes closed and his breath ragged, all his fears spilling out of him, his self control slipping as his mind wondered what would happen if tomorrow she went back carrying a worse wound, one that reduced their time together to one last kiss, one last look, one last moment to guide him to his own perdition the moment her heart stopped beating.

Evelyn knew how he felt. She had felt it during the battle in the Approach, and more recently when he was wounded in the Shrine. It was one of the things for which she was grateful, the fact that she was the one that had to venture beyond the walls, away from the safety of the keep to close the rifts and fight the Venatori. Knowing he was behind fortified walls, with a whole army between him and any harm that might fall on Skyhold, helped her sleep at night. And it was precisely for that reason that she understood the desperation behind his kiss, the fear that had immobilized him to the point of just pressing his lips against hers without moving beyond the soft caresses in her cheekbone or the way his hand gripped her hair, taking care of not pull it or hurt her in any way, overwhelmed by the fact that she was still alive and with him. And it was also why she closed the distance between them, why she pulled him against her until she could feel his heartbeat on her chest again, until she felt his body relax and his lips give in to her own, opening his mouth in a mixture between a whimper and a growl, raising out of his lethargy in time to hold her in return, and dropping his hands to her back to push her against him until both pulled back to breathe again, sharing the air in short gasps while pressing their foreheads together, not wanting to let go just yet.

She lowered her forehead to his chest once again when they finally managed to calm their breathing, her hair falling over her shoulders and exposing the wound that still hurt Cullen. He caressed her neck lovingly around it, wanting to touch it as if that simple act might heal her completely, but refusing to do anything that might hurt her further.

Voices outside warned them that the first guard shift had ended, the fresher men replacing the tired soldiers, allowing them to leave for their beds, and warning them that they had stood there for over half an hour. Soon, they would have to part ways following the soldiers' example and going to their respective rooms to seek their own rest, searching under the covers for the warmth that they had lost until they could meet again the next morning. And something about that notion made her turn her face on his chest until her ear was pressed over his heart, able to hold him as she had when they entered his office, lost in a forlorn hope that she could shut out the world beyond these doors and forget that time kept slipping, turning her into a thief stealing precious hours from the already short amount he dedicated to sleep.

Cullen had also heard the movement outside, his mind warning him that he was occupying her more than he should, that the dark circles below her eyes were indeed there despite appearing softer, thanks to the darker color of her skin, and that she should sleep to recover from her trip. But even as that perfectly logical thought passed through his mind, he tightened his hold, keeping her close instead of letting her go, lowering his lips to her head and kissing her there just as she rubbed her face on his chest and mumbled something against his shirt.

-What was that?- he asked, smiling while he raised her head from his chest by pushing below her chin.

Even through her tanned skin, he could see the blush staining her cheeks, the uncertainty in her eyes, and the way her throat bobbed when she swallowed nervously.

 _Stay_ , he said in his mind, echoing the thoughts he had that night over a month ago. And as if she had heard him, her eyes relaxed and she stood on her toes to brush a soft kiss on his lips before speaking her mind.

-I don't want to say goodnight.- As she spoke those words, her brow frowned, a lingering fear of rejection attacking her at the last second, making her voice dim by the tail end of the sentence.

When Cullen shook his head, she feared he had not heard her correctly and would force her to repeat it, or that he _had_ heard her and found her veiled proposal inappropriate, or worse, unappealing.

As it turned out, she needn't have worried, since almost as soon as he began to shake his head, he whispered his answer back to her, its simplicity striking her where she stood, and surprising even him.

-Then don't,- he said, and almost immediately he leaned to kiss her, first on the lips and then on her cheek, moving his face away from hers to give her time to think without his eager eyes biasing her. He bit his tongue as he waited for her to take the next step, stopping himself from saying anything else out of fear of choosing the wrong words.

He had been about to say, "we don't have to do anything besides sleeping," but he didn't want her to assume that he wanted to convince her to stay only to test how far she was willing to let him go once she was in his bed. Then he thought about telling her, "we'll only sleep," but he didn't want to give her the impression that he didn't want more, when in fact he was having trouble controlling himself every time she was in his arms. So after a few seconds spent kissing her temple, both of them shyly avoiding each other's eyes, fearing they would break the spell if they looked at each other, he settled for what he thought was the best option to come to his mind with her so close and asking to spend the night with him.

-It can be just like when we were in camp.

Images of their last night together in a tent belatedly came back rushing to his mind, and he cursed himself for forgetting something like that before speaking. It was so like him to lose sight of the same memory that had occupied his mind since that night in the exact moment he needed to remember it most.

 _She is going to reject me. She is going to think I want to take advantage of her and..._

But then she raised her head and looked at him, her eyes large and lovely, melting his heart and stopping his lips from forming a single sound.

-Are you sure, you don't mind...?- The blush was still there, growing in intensity by the second, and Cullen thought she had never looked more beautiful than she did now, timidly asking to spend the night in each other's arms without the promise of something more happening, from the realization of fantasies that undoubtedly plagued both their minds, but didn't belong to that night.

Her bashfulness disarmed him, and his mind rushed to think of a way to reassure her that she was in no danger from him, that he would take anything she was willing to give him at the pace she wanted to set, that he would be happy to hold her in his arms for as long as she wanted to, relegating his desires for later if that meant keeping her close to him, to be able to wake up once again at her side.

So he smiled at her, feeling the sleepless nights begin to take their toll on his body now that he knew she would stay with him.

-Evey,- he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face. -I've been waiting for you for almost a month, and I barely slept the last several nights in the hopes that you'd arrive at any moment.- He caressed her face with the back of his hand, holding her chin afterwards and brushing her lower lip with his thumb .-I'm exhausted, but damn it all if I'm not ready to let you go, either.

He kissed her again, and he felt her smile against his lips, making him smile too, until she laughed softly, breaking the kiss.

He looked at her in confusion, and she bit her lip, trying to repress the smile.

-Maybe let me go for half an hour? I want to make sure my horse has been taken care of.

After hearing her ask to stay the night in his bed, Cullen was not very willing to give up on her just yet, especially not for a bloody horse.

-We have people who do that. They're quite capable of taking care of your mount.

-I know but...- She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, both hands splayed over his chest and staring at the floor. -I also wanted to take a bath. I must smell terribly.

It was obvious that she had used her horse as an excuse, perhaps not wanting to mention her bath to prevent the ideas already filling Cullen's mind, as well as probably her own, considering her blush had now reached her ears. Still, something in her coyness revealed what was going on. Each time they had been somewhat intimate, things had progressed without any sense of planning, both finding themselves in the dark inside a tent or waking up already tangled up with one other and unable to ignore the warmth of the other's body curled at their side. The only other time they had done something similar (without her companions leaving them no choice but to share a tent) had been when he was wounded and they found themselves walking to the tent without voicing the desire to sleep together, thusly avoiding any anticipation that might form in their minds.

Now, for the first time, they were consciously deciding to spend the night together, and not just in a tent where they could, at best, join their bedrolls to share the same space, their intimacy still tampered by the presence of their companions or the fact that only a canvas separated them from prying ears. No, now they were about to share a _bed_. A tent spoke of a need, but a bed invoked something more meaningful. A bed was what lovers shared, and that realization was what tinged her cheeks and made Cullen feel braver than ever.

Slowly, almost as if giving her time to recoil, he lowered his face to her ear, burying his nose in her hair and breathing deeply, making her shudder and filling his lungs with the same scent he had caught before: sand, sun, grass, leather and dirt mixing with her sweat, and deep down, almost barely there, her jasmine soap. She might hate six of the seven scents he detected in her hair, but he loved every one of them, the blend awakening his body in a way that was not entirely unexpected, though somewhat unwelcome in that precise moment.

Feeling her same shudder pass over him, he whispered, his lips caressing the shell of her ear.

-You smell wonderfully…

-Please, -she whispered back, and something in her tone aroused him, as if she was asking for more than his patience for her to have a bath instead of climbing to his loft as she was now. She pulled back then, breathing deep and looking back at him, her blush still staining her cheeks. -I would feel more comfortable knowing I've washed off all the dirt from the road. I'll be quick, I promise.

She was right. He didn't want her to feel uncomfortable the first time they shared a bed, and if he was honest with himself, he could use the time to calm himself, allowing his body to cool down before she came back, making sure to avoid disturbing her if she got close enough to feel just how much she truly affected him. So he smiled again, brushing her cheek one last time and nodding before finally letting her go.

Time, of course, ran slower when she was away, and Cullen found himself reorganizing his papers for the third time when he heard a knock on the door fifteen minutes later.

First, he went to stand from his chair and open the door, but then he realized she wouldn't have knocked, so he sat again and, fearing some urgent matter might sour their plans, bid whomever was on the other side of the door to come in.

-Excuse us, Commander.- A pair of soldiers entered the office a second later, and by their faces, Cullen knew that his tone had been more harsh than he had intended. -The Inquisitor sent us sir, she said we are not required at our post today and that we should confirm her order with you.

Cullen recognized the men immediately. They were the ones he had assigned four nights ago to guard her quarter's door the moment she got back. With her delay, the pair must have been awakened when she arrived and had taken their places at their post while she had detoured to greet him. She had probably thought the men didn't need to spend the night guarding a door without an occupant, and had ordered them to abandon their post, but had still wanted them to consult with him to avoid stepping over his authority.

-That is correct. You may go back to the barracks,- he feigned disinterest, shuffling through his papers as if this was not something out of the ordinary, nor required more of his attention than that of a short glance and nod toward his men.

The soldiers then saluted and left the office without another word, leaving Cullen wondering about how quickly gossip would spread through the barracks now that the Inquisitor had, once again, dismissed her guards. It was not so uncommon an occurrence, much to Cullen's dismay. She hated that he had insisted on posting guards at her door in case she needed them, the Inquisitor claiming that if an assassin could climb up to her balcony to attack her, they deserved to kill her, an observation that didn't amuse him one bit. It wasn't just the outside threat; Skyhold had become a pilgrimage from the moment they arrived and a point of interest to nobles everywhere around Thedas thereafter, both reason enough to keep her safe from anyone who thought that sneaking into her quarters at night to harm her was a good idea. Still, the news of her dismissing the guards on the same night that the soldier in the battlements had, with all certainty, arrived at the barracks with the story of their Commander acting too affectionately toward the Inquisitor was bound to raise eyebrows. But just as easily as he could think of it, she could too, and he had no doubt she had done just that and decided she didn't care either way, which was enough for Cullen. Tonight was for them. Tomorrow, the Maker would decide.

Ten minutes and six more tries at reorganizing his paperwork, the southern door creaked open and Evelyn entered, her hair still wet from her bath, her simple white tunic tucked inside tight leathers that made him think that, unless she had brought along a change of clothes, she would have to sleep in nothing but her undergarments and the shirt.

That was enough to make his heart race, but when she stepped closer to the light and he noticed her shirt was laced in the front with ties reaching down between her breasts, he prayed to Andraste to give him strength. At least the fabric was thicker than the one she'd worn the last time they shared a tent, and fortunately or not (Cullen had yet to determine which), he couldn't make out her skin through it as clearly as he would have if they were in a brightly lit room instead of inside a tent in the middle of the night, which only made him secretly lament even more the lack of light when they were on the Fields of Ghilsain.

He got up from his chair and walked toward her, not sparing a glance at the report he'd left at the edge of his desk that had fallen to the floor as soon as his hand abandoned it. He only had eyes for her. She had toweled her hair, but small drops still remained on her neck, half dried and immobile, and Cullen suddenly imagined them running down her body until they eventually disappeared below her collarbone, except he didn't want to give them the chance. He wanted to kiss every one of them, feel her shiver as he drank them up, tasting them as if they were the most delicious ambrosia.

One day, he would take his time with her.

One day, he would savor every inch of her skin, pausing only to memorize her face as he took her to blissful ecstasy.

One day...

He forced himself to stop that line of thought, telling himself this was not to be that night, and that tonight she trusted him to keep his word. So, instead of ravishing her with his eyes, he raised them to her face, where she waited for him with a timid and peaceful smile, the length of the journey exhausting her and barely allowing her to keep her eyes open now that she was clean and at home.

He walked until he stood one step away from her, raising his hand to cradle her face, his thumb outlining the edge of her jaw.

-Ready to go to bed, sweetheart?

She bit her lip, closing her eyes and releasing the air in her lungs as if savoring his words, her dazed smile coming back to life, growing beyond what Cullen thought tiredness would allow her. Before he could inquire about it, her soft voice reached his ears.

-You haven't called me that in so long... I was beginning to think you would never say it again.

They both knew when he had said it the last time. Images of them standing in Skyhold's inner gardens, him begging her not to marry Sebastian, and her looking at him as if he were crushing her heart under his fist invaded them, and just as quickly they both pushed the memories aside. This was no time to remember the agony of when they had thought whatever they had built together had died. They were together at last, and even the ruins of those walls, raised during that tumultuous time, were crumbling around them.

Softer than the wind that slipped through his window, her next words flew toward him.

-I missed it.

He kissed her as fervently as he dared, surrounding her waist with his arm and bringing her toward him until she raised her hands to his neck and pulled him back to her.

Then, as quickly as it began, it ended, and without another word he took her hand, blew out the flame in the lamp over his desk, and guided her toward the stairs leading to his loft.

When she stood in front of the ladder, she heard him whisper over her shoulder to be careful, holding her hip while she climbed the first rungs, taking care that she didn't fall from sheer exhaustion before then climbing behind her, leaving barely enough space between them just in case she lost footing and he had to catch her.

By the time he made it to the loft, she was a few feet away from the ladder, absently looking up at the sky through the hole in his roof. He tried, he honestly tried to move away, to give her space and prepare himself to bed, but watching her standing in his room, with the light of the moons shining overhead, the back of her shirt almost transparent from her hair dampening the white fabric, he couldn't help but go to her, holding her waist from behind, and placing the softest kiss on her shoulder.

-Cullen?- she asked, barely moving her head to where he was nuzzling her neck.

-Hmmm?

-There's _still_ a hole in your roof.- Her tone wasn't angry, but below her soft voice, he distinguished the disapproval. -I sent Foreman Sherice to fix this months ago.

She turned, placing her hand on his forearm, her face more worried than upset. Cullen looked up to the hole, watching the stars shimmer, the light entering and playing with the darker tones of blonde in her wet hair, making them shine with the promise of a lighter shade to come when it dried, and he smiled to himself.

-I know, and I sent him away.- She tilted her head and was about to discuss his decision when he added, -Watching the stars soothes me. It helps when I have a fever, let's the air flow down.

If he had tried to say something to avoid the issue, it wouldn't have been so effective as with that last, almost indifferent statement. The change in Evelyn was immediate. She frowned, looking up at him as if assessing his state in that moment.

-Does that happen often? The fevers?

Cullen was not sure if the answer would help, but he knew that attempting to dodge the question would only cause her to fret more.

-Not as often as before. You don't need to worry about me.- Apparently that didn't ease her mind, because he had not yet finished the sentence when she had raised her palm to his forehead and then the back of it to his cheeks. -I'm perfectly fine now, I promise.

He took her hand and kissed it. She leaned over it, pressing her forehead to the back of her hand, still over his lips, sighing.

Her hair had fallen from behind her ear so Cullen pushed it back again, softly brushing his fingers on her face, thus making her look up again. He kissed her then, just a small peck on her lips, something to ease her mind, to remind her that he was feeling better now with her than any other time he could recall.

He wanted to take her hand and walk her to bed, wanted to kiss her and help her undress, to lie with her and forget about the hole in the roof, the fevers, the withdrawal, or any other thing that might concern them and cloud a night where all those preoccupations had no place. But if he were honest with himself, he had no idea how to do it without making her feel like he was trying to achieve more, even if his mind was suggesting all the things he feared she might think were his true intentions. Eventually, he settled on the only idea that sounded even remotely appropriate.

-Do you need me to leave you alone to change?- It was a stupid question. It had been evident that she had not brought any change of clothes, but to use the word "undress" seemed too aggressive and...

 _Andraste preserve me, I'm overthinking this._

She just smiled as her only answer, and apparently managed to gather the courage that he had lacked, taking his hand and stepping back, looking at him briefly before turning and walking to the bed.

Once there, he tightened his grip on her hand reassuringly before letting her go and walking to the left side of the bed. He didn't have a preference; he usually slept where he fell after trying his best to exhaust himself in a vain hope of having a night free from nightmares, only to then find himself thrashing all over the bed when they inevitably hit him. Still, leaving the right side to her increased the chances to protect her in case the weather took a turn for the worse and rain fell through the hole and onto the bed.

As he began to undress, painfully aware of the rustles of fabric at his back where she stood on the other side of the bed, he was surprised by the fact that the silence, that would have made him feel uncomfortable in any situation remotely similar to this one, felt more expectant with her, causing a warmth to spread through his chest at the idea of lying in bed with her in his arms.

He removed his trousers and shirt, leaving on his undergarments on her behalf, waiting until he heard the bed give under her weight and he saw the sheets rustle next to him from the corner of his eyes. Cullen regretted his decision to return the silk sheets some petulant noble had sent him in the hopes of winning his favor and, according to the letter attached to the gift "helping him enjoy them", since now they would be something to offer her instead of the crude and worn cotton ones he used. At least he had accepted Josephine's suggestion of taking a pair of goose feather pillows. It was not much consolation, only now realizing that his accommodations would be far less regal than the ones the Ambassador had arranged for Evelyn in her rooms, but although the fabric on his bed would be coarser than those he had touched the night he'd tucked her into bed in her chambers, it would certainly be an improvement from the bedrolls they carried while on the road. As for any other inconveniences, he hoped that the fact that they were together would be enough to compensate for the lack of luxury.

Only after he heard her settle did he turn, ready to slide in bed with her, feeling his heart pounding furiously in his chest, but the sight that greeted him left him almost incapable of thinking of anything besides thanking the Maker for the moons, so full that night, which now allowed him to study her as its light spilled through the hole in his roof.

Just as he had imagined from the sounds, she was already beneath the covers, but she had tucked the sheets only to her upper arm, leaving her shoulders bare for him, silently showing him that she had not only removed her leathers, now folded over the barrel he used as a night stand, but also her shirt, leaving her only in her smallclothes and, he assumed, a breast band.

Cullen never thought he would actually pray for her to be wearing a breast band while in bed with him, but there he was, finding the idea of her naked from the waist up too tempting to withstand a whole night simply holding her without exploring her body, as he very much craved the idea. Neither did he think that he would be grateful for the fact that four nights of hardly any sleep had made his body sluggish, allowing him to enjoy, in a small measure while reigning his fantasies, the sight of her with hardly any clothes on, head resting atop his pillow and letting her damp hair fill the feathers with what he hoped would be a scent that would linger for days, sinking him into this blissful memory for nights when he would lie alone and yearn for her presence.

 _Or maybe she_ will _be here… Maybe this is only one of many nights to come_.

The passages of the Chant of Light came into his mind almost without him noticing, though Cullen was not certain if he did so to calm his racing heart, aiding him in exercising control over his body as he had done so many times in the past when his younger, more impulsive self had let emotions pour over him, the sacred scriptures giving him solace and peace of mind, or if that was just his way of thanking the Maker and His Bride for putting this wonderful woman in his life.

He didn't know and, as he entered the bed, feeling her reach out for him immediately, he didn't care.

The moment he settled, her head fell from the pillow to rest in his waiting arms while he surrounded her with the other as she nuzzled his neck. She stayed there for a few seconds, looking at him lovingly, and then she kissed his jaw, slowly reaching his lips where she placed another soft kiss. She turned in place and took his hands in hers, crossing his arms in front of her chest until he tightened his hold in a possessive embrace. Then she instinctively settled her hips closer to his, making it all the more wonderful and terrible for Cullen, who moved one leg forward against her own. He left the other back in case his body overcame the fatigue growing by the second and realized he was lying in bed with the same woman that had shaken him countless times as her memory danced in his mind's eye, making him shiver at the thought of having her with him in that moment. This way, even if he reacted to her presence, she would not be able to feel him unless they repositioned themselves, and that was something Cullen was not about to do any time soon, lest he repeat the incident of that morning in the tent on the road to Ghislain.

Trying to concentrate on something other than her body flushed against his, he disentangled one of his hands and moved her hair back, baring her neck to him and allowing him to softly kiss the healing wound he had found earlier, producing the most beautiful sound from her.

-Goodnight Evey,- he whispered as he settled into his pillow, his lips brushing just behind her ear.

From his place behind her, he could see her smile.

-Goodnight Cullen.

She was half asleep already, tightening the grip of her hand that had slid over his arm once more before surrendering to exhaustion, feeling the seconds draw sluggishly, their hearts calming now that the one for whom they beat was near, and their breaths became softer, deeper, peaceful…

As he fell asleep, Cullen felt her breathe deeply, the movement of her chest pushing his coin from between her breasts and into his hand, where he traced its contours until the Fade welcomed him with open arms…


	59. Chapter 59

**Author's note: We will publish one chapter per week again starting today. So, next Sunday I'll publish chapter 60 :)**

 **I hope you enjoy this one.**

 **oOo**

Chapter 59: Murderer!

Elderly mages in the Circle were fond of saying that whenever a person abruptly awoke without provocation, kind spirits had forced them out of the Fade before demons could drag them into a nightmare. If such things were true, then Cullen had much for which to thank them, since he woke up at least once a night. What he didn't understand was what happened whenever he _did_ have a nightmare. Spirits were the most powerful beings in the Fade, right? Why, then, did they fail in their task to save him from those spirits' grasps so often? Were they busy? Had demons defeated them, leaving Cullen at the mercy of their sadistic whims?

Being that as it may, tonight he had another reason to thank them, because waking up gave him the chance to admire the woman curling on his side.

As usual with Cullen, during the night he had changed positions and was now lying on his back, one arm stretched at his side and bent at the elbow to rest on Evey's back, holding her protectively against his chest. His legs were slightly open while one of hers draped over his left, her thigh resting over his and her knee tucked between his legs. Her hair had dried, which meant Cullen had at least slept for a solid hour without stirring, a miracle on its own considering how fretful his nights were. Her head was resting on his upper arm, and he smiled when he moved his fingers and felt them tingle due to the lack of blood circulation. It didn't matter, though; he had felt worse for far more unpleasant reasons, and a dead arm was nothing for the pleasure of watching her sleep peacefully in his arms, enveloping him not only with her leg but with an arm draped as long as she could stretch it to his waist.

From this position, he could hardly see her face, so with utmost care he turned on his side, trying to keep his arm as still as possible and making sure that he entwined their legs in a way that wouldn't trap hers between his, effectively hurting her. He drew back then, staring enraptured at the calmness of her face, how her chest would rise and fall with her breathing, how in response to his muscles twitching below her cheek she would turn her face against it, nuzzling it just so that it reminded him of her doing the same to her pillow the first time they'd shared a tent. Only then she had not ended those movements with the softest brush of her lips as she was doing now, barely kissing him while in a deep sleep, and sighing when he would in turn raise his hand over her back, slowly as to not wake her, but stroking her from waist to shoulder blades only to then leave her skin to brush a stray strand of hair that prevented him from looking upon her face.

He loved her. There was no doubt in his heart about that, and the keen desire to wake her with his kisses and whisper his confession in her ear attacked him so suddenly that he felt his heart race in his chest in a desperate call that she was quick to respond to, snuggling closer until her head fell from his arm and rested on the bed close to his chest, kissing the skin in front of her lips once before falling back into the Fade with a contented sigh that caressed him, making him shudder with desire.

Feeling she was now too far away, Cullen raised the arm over her head a touch higher and carefully lowered his body until his lips could easily touch her by slightly leaning down. Once he did just that, she moved herself closer, her arm holding him as his surrounded her again.

And with one last kiss, he surrendered himself to the Fade, his mind professing what his lips could not, even through the veil of her dreams, silently telling her over and over how much he truly loved her.

oOo

A few hours later, Cullen awoke again with Evelyn curled next to him, her back to his chest while he cradled her in his arms. He kissed her neck, softly brushing her new scar, and felt her push back against him, a soft hum leaving her lips while she still scouted the Fade. Yet despite not being fully awake, she turned in his arms, hugging him strongly, making him very aware of every curve of her body.

The lingering sleep that had prevented him from awakening as vigorously today as he had done most times they had shared a tent was now ebbing away from all the sensations invading his body: her snuggling against him, kissing him languidly over every patch of skin she could find, still half asleep but smiling nonetheless at the feel of his kisses trailing down her face and to her neck, softly greeting her back to the waking world from the moment he felt her stir. The small sounds she had been uttering since his wandering lips had found hers were a deadly but sweet mixture that was quickly weakening his pious resolve.

They stayed like that for a few more minutes as she kissed his chest, up his neck and jaw, while he explored her shoulder with avid lips, then her collarbone, the shell of her ear and her cheeks until their mouths finally met, melting in a passionate kiss that spoke for them, silently confessing desires, feelings, urges that lead them to roam each other's bodies, all the while deigning to respect the barriers they had imposed on themselves, but defying them as passions grew, wandering close to the edge, teasing with the promise of more, only to retreat, losing themselves in a blissful fog of longing and hunger that tasted like paradise.

And then she pushed further, her hand sliding down his abdomen, brushing the hem of his smallclothes. He trembled and held his breath, trying not to think of how much he needed her to keep going, how much he desired to mimic the action in kind, his mind losing focus on anything that it wasn't her lips on his mouth, her hands on his stomach...

Until she crossed that line as well. Her palm left his skin to rest over fabric, the thin barrier doing nothing to keep him from feeling her fingers adapt to his form, caressing, searching for what he liked and how he liked it. Blindly, he sent his own hand on a quest to take her with him to the peak of their pleasure.

But then her hand abandoned him.

Cullen's body tensed in an instant, fearing she would jump out of bed and feign an excuse to leave. He cycled through every step of his advances in his mind, trying to decipher what he had done wrong, until she took his hand and placed it on her lower back, pushing herself closer to him in a silent request for him to hold her, yet leave enough space to resume her caresses. Deep in Cullen's mind, there was a voice telling him he shouldn't let her do this without somehow returning the favor, but it clashed against another that fairly pointed out that when he had tried she had stopped him. He was about to say something, to hold her hand and tell her that he'd like to touch her, that he didn't want to be the only one enjoying this, when her hand tightened just a fraction. But it was enough to clear his mind again, making him groan, ending the kiss in favor of breathing.

-Evey...- He panted against her mouth, wanting to ask her to let him touch her, to beg her not to stop, to implore her to take off the only barrier stopping him from feeling her directly, to… he didn't know exactly. He just knew that he needed to call her, to say her name like a mantra.

-Shhh...- Her voice sounded affected too, her whisper harsh, her chest pushing forward against his to provide her with the air that his passionate voice had knocked clear from her lungs. -Relax. Let me see to you…

She outlined his form with her hand again and he was gone, nearly rolling to his back, but stopping himself at the last second simply because he couldn't bear the idea of putting distance between them. He instead raised his hand to the middle of her back and pulled her closer, her own hand still caressing him in a way that made him feel desires that not even his deepest, most intimate dreams of her could ever have conjured. The movements were familiar, echoes of meaningless experiences of his past, but the sensations were too strong to resemble anything he had ever felt, making him hyperaware of the brush of her breasts on his chest through the fabric of her breast band, the breathing in his ear and the shudder in her back when his lips whispered unintelligible nothings against her neck between kisses and pants. Her name was the only distinguishable word in a sea of contained confessions that pushed past his lips without conscious intent, his mind barely stopping him from forming the words with enough clarity to make her realize how much he was baring his heart while she guided him to bliss.

He could feel his pleasure rising faster than he wanted it to, faster than what his pride would have desired, faster than what his whole body was demanding him to maintain, wishing this moment could last longer than what he feared it would.

His hand raised in tune with his longing, once again exploring every muscle of her back, trying to touch her everywhere at once, to encompass all of her with just one hand until it nested behind her neck to take hold of her there, his fingers twitching in place while he pulled back from her shoulder and locked eyes with her, his pleasure making his stomach flutter but forcing himself to look at her, to share this and show her the heights she was taking him too.

It was then that her hand dipped beneath his garment, pushing the fabric down and leaving him bare, the morning air briefly touching him before her warm grasp protected him again. He heard himself hiss, the already frail connection his wavering eyes were trying to hold severing, closing them with a groan that reached and entered her, eliciting a whimper which fell from her lips and forced Cullen to open his eyes to feel his lungs lose their ability to function when he saw his bliss reflected in hers.

As the wave of his pleasure crested, the hand at the nape of her neck pushed her forward, crashing her lips to his in a searing kiss that muffled the blissful sound of a man at the mercy of his desires.

Minutes later, as his breathing began to slow and his racing heart calmed its frantic need to pump blood at a dizzying rate, he found himself lying on his back, looking at the roof over his head, sprawled on his bed and painfully aware of the absence of her body next to him. Before he could order his thoughts enough to be able to talk, though, he felt the mattress give at his side under her weight and a rough cloth cleaning him, only to disappear a second later, replaced by the glorious warmth of her body once more pressing against him.

Her leg reclaimed its position over his and her arm surrounded him, joining the ups and downs of his chest while he still attempted to recover from the bliss she had brought him to. Still, there was no amount of pleasure or pain that could keep him from pulling her closer to him, taking the hand resting over his chest and turning his head until his face touched hers, their breath mingling in the same agitated rhythm, his mouth curling into a satisfied smile that mirrored her own.

-Good morning,- she whispered, brushing his lips as hers moved to form the words.

He chuckled softly, raising his hand to push the hair from her face.

-More than good.- A kiss followed his words as soon as they left his mouth.

Then he surprised her by rolling until she was on her back, his body towering over hers, his recent dreamy eyes turning almost predatory, his smile reflecting such confidence and ardent desire that Evey felt her whole body react.

-Your turn,- he said, lowering his head to her neck, kissing her there as his hand outlined the curves of her body, not noticing how her jaw tensed.

A seemingly endless succession of insistent knocks on his door made them both stand on alert. A second later, the creak of his door opening followed.

-Commander!- Then a pause, as if the man downstairs was considering the possibility of him not being there. -Commander?

Cullen, who had sighed in exasperation at the first rap on the door, now raised one finger to his lips, silently telling her to keep quiet, a mischievous smile appearing next at the sight of her flustered below him. He kissed her lips with utmost care to not make any sound, unable to keep himself away from her for too long.

But then they heard the man's voice reaching them from the end of the ladder.

-Commander, ser, can you hear me?- The soldier's voice was more assured this time, apparently having reached the conclusion that Cullen was, in fact, still in his loft despite it being well past his normal waking hour.

Cullen considered ignoring him, but then he remembered that he'd left his armor on his office's stand and not taken it with him upstairs as he usually did. Realizing that the man was not going to give up, convinced now that he had simply overslept, the Commander pushed himself up from over her and sighed in defeat. He rose and walked to the edge of his loft's entrance, hating every second he was forced to be away from her.

When he was in sight of the soldier below, he felt his anger brewing. Maker, this man was his own personal torturer!

-What is it, Jim?- As it usually went between them, the scout recoiled, his face doing nothing to mask the fright he felt, despite the fact that Cullen had sounded more tired than angry.

-Lady Cassandra requests your presence in the armory, ser. She said it was urgent.

-Tell her I'll be there as soon as I can.- And he turned to walk back to bed.

Apparently, the image of the Commander slipping from his grasp made Jim panic and forget his place, for as Cullen disappeared from his line of sight the man held onto the rungs, as if he wanted to climb after him, trying his best to call his Commander with a thread of a voice. Cullen caught the movement from the corner of his eyes and shot a furious glance at his soldier.

-Private?- he barked, using the man's title to remind him of his position below him both physically and in rank. His tone was dry, careful, almost menacing, and it made Jim's blood run cold.

-Lady Penthagast asked me to wait for you ser…- He doubted himself here, his eyes closing as he swallowed hard. -So you won't get distracted, she said. -He rushed over the last two words, fearing Cullen would think he was the one judging him.

A single brow raised on Cullen's face, his eyes dropping to Jim's hand, still firmly on the ladder. The poor soldier released the rungs as if they had burned him, already feeling his muscles doing exactly that at the memory of the last time he had importuned his Commander. Not to mention the fact that, to this day, Cullen silently blamed him for the rumors he had started involving himself and the Inquisitor.

-It's a good thing you report to _me_ , then,- Cullen said balefully. He made a purposeful pause while the information set roots in Jim's brain until the man nodded nervously. -Inform Seeker Pentaghast I'll be there shortly.

He waited until he heard Jim push the heavy door before moving, walking around to the hole in the floor until he saw it close. Only then did he turn toward her.

Much to his dismay, his bed was now empty as she was standing next to it, her trousers already on and about to put on her shirt. He walked toward her and hugged her from behind, his long arms surrounding her waist completely and holding her against him, instantly lowering his mouth to kiss her shoulder, raising his lips to her ear a second later.

-Don't go yet.

She trembled, his voice making her feel dizzy, the desire she had felt rising inside her while watching him reach his pleasure only intensifying at hearing him whisper in her ear.

-Cassandra called you,- she reminded him, her voice more a sigh than actual words, her hands reaching for his arms, pulling him against her.

-She can wait,- he said, and nibbled her ear, which caused her to shudder and moan softly.

But just as he was about to turn her face toward him and kiss her, she lifted her hand to his cheek, caressing it while she dropped her head on his shoulder to look at him.

-It's _Cassandra_ we're talking about, Cullen.- She brushed his hair back with her fingers, knowing that no amount of effort on her part would make it look like it usually did after he styled it, but enjoying the feeling of his unruly locks under her fingers, wavy now that he had not had time to tame it.- You can't run away from her. Ask Varric; he tried.

He turned her by her waist until she faced him, surrounding her with his arms again so they could feel each other's hearts.

-Then I'll lock the doors.

-Cullen... it's late already. It's nothing short of a miracle that we weren't interrupted earlier.

At the mention of the moment they had shared, Cullen's eyes sparked with the memory of what they had done, and what she was asking him to abandon even before he had time to begin.

-But you...- He didn't get to finish his sentence, for she raised her hands to cup his face and lock eyes with him.

-I didn't do it expecting to be compensated. You don't have to do anything.- She shook her head while she talked, as if she needed that visual aid to drive the point home, to make him understand that she had acted without expectation of a reward, spurred only by the desire to see him unravel at her touch, to hear him soar his pleasure to its peak, and be there to hold him when he crashed back into her arms.

He took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles, returning his eyes to her afterwards.

-I don't have to, but I want to.

She smiled, her head giving a short and almost imperceptive nod, silently telling him that she knew he had wanted to, but also looking at him with eyes that told him that time had run out for them that morning. Then she kissed the hand that still held hers, and he almost insisted. She looked so beautiful with her bed hair and sleepy eyes, her chest now calm but still mostly naked touching his skin, almost begging him to convince her to shut the outside world and spend the day making her feel as wonderful as she had made him feel. But the sounds outside warned him that no matter how much he wished for the contrary, Skyhold was also awake, and in need of him.

Finally, he lowered their hands, held her face with the other, and kissed her softly, lovingly, taking the time they didn't have, time that he was stealing from both their duties, but that he considered as essential as any of the responsibilities that were waiting for them outside this room. Then, with passionate eyes that left no room to misinterpretation, he whispered against her lips.

-Next time.

There was an undoubtable promise in his eyes, a commitment to make her experience the same unique feelings she had awakened in both his body and heart, to steal a moment of privacy again, one that he silently swore would be dedicated to worshiping her as he had wanted to a million times before, ever since she had accepted him into her life, but with a new incentive: letting her know how deeply he loved her.

Her eyes answered with passion mixed with something else that he couldn't quite interpret, like the fear he had seen when she had confessed to thinking of him constantly the day they first kissed, the insecurity of not being enough, of playing all her best cards and still losing the game. It was an uncertainty that he decided he would help her overcome, taking only what she would be willing to give, and reassuring her of anything that might make her go against the desire he had seen before, and was seeing now, mixing with her own insecurities.

Before he could ask after or define exactly what he was seeing, she stood on her toes, searching for his mouth, and when she found it, they dove into a passionate kiss that quickly grew until she was dipped backwards as Cullen towered over, one hand on her lower back and the other on the nape of her neck while they tried to seize what they both knew would be the last minutes in a long day of paperwork and loneliness.

oOo

Twenty minutes later, after changing into a new set clothes, Evey made her way down to the stables. She trusted Master Dennet, and by extension the people he had trained, but she also knew that her horse would get temperamental if she didn't visit after ditching him the night before. When she arrived, though, Blackwall was standing inside the barn, already fully clothed and staring at the still burning fire with such focus that she feared he'd stood there with the same vacant expression for the entirety of the night, thinking of Maker knew what. So, when he turned and asked her if she was up for a drink, confessing he had a hankering for company, she couldn't find it in her heart to refuse him. Blackwall was a reserved man, and the fact that he had gone to the trouble of asking her to talk was enough for her. She could see in his eyes that he needed her, and she would never turn her back on her friend in what was clearly a moment of need.

She didn't drink, since it was too early for her, and after Blackwall told her the story of the urchins torturing a dog to death, she felt grateful to have refused the alcohol, as she also understood why he had needed it. It wasn't just a story of regret and the ugliness of the world, of how people turned their eyes from injustice as everyone in the village (not just him, who had been, after all, just a boy) had done. For the Warden, it went far beyond that, and despite him not exactly saying it, Evelyn suspected he was trying to tell her something else, something inside him that believed she would have done the right thing in his place, something that lay hidden within and that he might have wanted to share, only to realize then that he couldn't. She did her best to reassure him about it, to tell him that he was a good man, that she had noticed that about him from the moment she found him training commoners to defend themselves, but no matter what she said, Blackwall only seemed to fall deeper into despair. Finally, when she ran out of ideas, she told him the only thing she knew for sure.

-It's harder to face your own mistakes and decide to be a better man, than to shut your eyes over and over, telling yourself you can't do anything about it. You are fighting to save thousands, you are giving your life for everyone out there. You are not that child anymore, even if you don't believe it yourself.

His only answer had been a dim smile, one that held too many regrets and sadness, but shone with friendship, camaraderie, and something else that she couldn't have known in that moment, but that she would come to realize carried the distinctive seal of guilt.

While she was thinking of something else to say, they were interrupted by a certain Merchant Prince with a fetish for a particular crossbow inviting them to have breakfast, casually commenting that both Cassandra and Cullen were already there while glancing at Evey with a knowing look, and making Blackwall's lips curve in the first sincere and heartfelt smile of the morning as the dwarf's eyes shone in that way that spoke of a new chapter of his story pouring out of his imagination.

Just like Varric had promised when they entered the main hall, they saw Cullen and Cassandra sitting at a table near Josephine's office. The Ambassador was absent, but Dorian had already joined them, sitting next to Cassandra on the aisle side of the table, leaving Cullen to sit alone in front of them. Recently, Josephine had changed the tables in the main hall, replacing them with much more grandiose ones with room enough for eight people, but this seemed to be either an uneventful day or too late in the morning to eat breakfast, which might explain Josephine's absence, because the hall was less crowded than usual. Whichever it was, it meant more than half the table was empty, as was the chair next to Cullen. Praying to the Maker that none of her companions decided to steal that spot from her and doing her best to control her more than noticeable quick pace, she walked toward them.

-Good morning, Cassandra, Dorian,- she nodded to each of them, casually rounding the table toward Cullen while feigning interest in the food and drinks served over it. When she arrived next to him, she added, -Good morning Cullen.

Cullen. Not Commander, just Cullen. He was not certain if the shiver of pleasure that ran down his spine was due to the memory of those same words while she lied next to him after she had taken him to the peak of ecstasy, or by the fact that she had greeted him so naturally that his heart had answered, racing in his chest, making his body tremble at its rhythm, something that only increased when she sat next to him, the chair close enough for him to feel her thigh pressing against his.

Cassandra and Dorian's answer was lost in Cullen's mind at the feel of her closeness, tightening his grip on his cup without caring if it broke just to stop himself from taking her back to his tower and keeping her there until every last one of the fantasies plaguing his mind could be fulfilled.

Eventually, the lustful haze lifted and the first thing that came to his mind was keeping his hands busy so he would not attempt to take hers just to feel her.

-Good morning, Inquisitor. Coffee?- he offered, thanking Andraste for his firm voice and lifting the pot toward her empty cup.

-Please,- she smiled, and the image of her smiling in his bed while he had tried to catch his breath made him clear his throat, begging that his blush remain hidden under the collar of his shirt while he filled her cup.

In the meantime, Varric had taken his place next to Cassandra, and Blackwall next to him, both immediately busying themselves with filling their cups and plates, the Warden doing justice to the infamous hunger of his Order.

-Coffee? Really? So, I've lost you to the Commander, now?- Dorian added with a not so subtle smile toward the couple, reveling in the way Cullen's hand faltered, making the lid on the pot tremble in place.

-Thank you,- she said under her breath to Cullen before addressing Dorian, leaning to get the sugar bowl. -I've _always_ liked coffee, Dorian.

-And yet you seemed more inclined to drink it here.- He shot another significant look to Cullen, who was trying to distract himself by buttering slices of toast.

-That's because you're the only one who carries something as frivolous as his infusion of choice while we travel.

-He mostly does that to unnerve Solas,- intervened Blackwall between mouthfuls.

-I do it to bring a sense of _civility_ to our travels,- answered the mage in an affected tone, as if the Warden's commentary had wounded his pride.

-And to make Chuckles gag,- Varric said, joining the discussion.

-In the ten months I've known Solas, I have never...- began Dorian in his defense, one that, by the way he had straightened his back, would have been a lengthy and probably impeccable (yet not exactly accurate) one if Varric hadn't raised a hand to stop him, giving Cullen the perfect excuse to slip a buttered toast in front of Evey, who smiled beautifully, mouthing a 'thank you' while the others were busy discussing.

-Wait! _Ten months?_ That can't be right, can it?- He looked around, searching for clarification.

Surprisingly, it came from the woman sitting at his side.

-Yes, it can. Dorian joined a few weeks before the Inquisitor sealed the Rift at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The Inquisitor awoke little more than a year ago.

Varric then beamed with a smile, rose his mug (he refused to be seen drinking anything but what could be found in the Herald's Rest), and spoke as if he were announcing the Inquisition's rebirth.

-And Hero joined us a few weeks after Sparkler, here.- He gestured toward Dorian with his mug. -Hear that?- He said while looking at everyone gathered at the table. -It's the anniversary of when we all met and became best buds!

Evey smiled and shook her head in amusement while Blackwall snorted, and Cullen looked at the Inquisitor from the corner of his eyes. Dorian announced that in all that time, he had done nothing to affront Solas purposefully, a commentary that was lost both for the lack of veracity and because Cassandra was already rebutting Varric.

-We are _not_ friends, Varric.- The way she said it made everyone think her commentary was not only directed to the storyteller personally, but that she also lacked the usual malice dripping from her tone when speaking to him, despite her best efforts.

-Oh, I beg to differ, Seeker. Look at you; you're just oozing love and warmth.

As was their usual dynamic, both the dwarf and the Seeker fell into their unending dispute, Varric teasing Cassandra by telling her that she was right, that he for once was not a friend, but merely an "unwelcome tagalong" that she had all but dragged him all the way from Kirkwall, only to have her answer that he had more than deserved it after he sat there spouting lie after lie about the Champion, making fun of her and Leliana by daring to hide he who seemed to be Thedas' only hope at that time. Still, even though their argument was one that most of the people gathered had heard from them in heated discussions before, it lacked the edge that they once had. Their banter seemed more like a tradition borne of the same friendship Cassandra was fervently denying than actual bad blood between the two.

It was in the middle of all that when Evey felt a small caress on the hand she had dropped to the chair's armrest. Trying not to call any unwanted attention toward it, she casually looked to her side, where Cullen was also doing his best not to look directly at her, as if he was in fact dividing his attention between everyone else until he eventually turned to look at her. Seizing a particularly deafening bout of laughs from the opposite side of the table, he finally took her hand and whispered just loud enough for her to hear:

-Happy anniversary.

Because what Varric was saying was true: it had been a year since she had met those who would quickly become four members of her current group of closest friends and, as Cassandra had pointed out, a year since she woke up, threatened and confused on the damp floor of Haven's cells. A year since the Seeker had reluctantly given her weapons to fight at her side for the first time as they cleared their path at swordpoint. Twelve months since Solas had lifted her hand high in the air, forcing her to close the first rift... A year since she had felt her heart thunder in her chest, thinking it was an effect of the madness they were living, only to later realize that in the calmness that followed, after she joined the Advisors and the Seeker in her first War Council, even before the title of Inquisitor being bestowed upon her was in anyone's minds, it raced just as quickly whenever her eyes would rest on the man that was currently looking at her as if she was the representation of the meaning of his own existence. For everyone else, that might be just a colorful note in their everyday, another date to remember fondly for a few short minutes before another subject would call their attention, focusing on the friendship that had resulted from it and not on the time that it took them to get there. But for them, it represented something more, for their lives had changed beyond the turn that anyone else's had taken. That day, in the lands surrounding the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Cullen and Evey had met, and from that day on, nothing had been the same for them.

The moment Cullen's words left his mouth, her heart raised to her throat, making her feel like any word she might want to pass through it would only bump against the lump now lodged there. Later on, neither she nor Cullen would know if any sound left her mouth when she tried to say it back to him, but there they remained, looking at each other as if they were still in the privacy of his room, intertwining their fingers without even caring what the eyes and ears around them could catch in the search for fodder to their rumors, and not noticing the woman that had just entered the main hall, clad in a Warden's armor, asking the people around her and searching for the one she was inquiring about.

Until the strange woman found her and walked a straight line toward the table where they sat, her hand reaching behind her with a blind rage in her eyes as she trotted toward Evelyn, screaming at the top of her lungs.

-You _murderer!_

It all happened so fast. One second she was holding Cullen's hand, trading warm smiles, and the next she had been pushed up and behind his back, his whole body blocking her from the threat coming towards her, one hand on the hilt of his sword and the other stretched behind him to keep her there, the tip of his fingers still touching her waist. For her, the only warning had been a brief flash of surprise, panic and determination setting in Cullen's eyes before she could even register the voice of the woman, let alone what she was screaming. And then he was standing up and falling into his defensive stance, his feet firm on the floor, knees slightly bent and sword slowly leaving its scabbard, which voiced his threat for him: _One more step, and I'll kill you._

The woman in front of her didn't seem impressed and, though slowing her pace, kept walking towards her. Evey's companions had also stood up, moving carefully so they could block the woman's path, Dorian standing slightly on the Warden's right while Cassandra and Blackwall stood in front of her with Varric behind them already cocking Bianca and joining the barricade that finished with Cullen, still protecting her with his body.

Cassandra was already shouting warnings at the woman, demanding that she raise both her hands, bringing forth the one that was still trying to reach for something on her back.

The woman in front of them stopped in her tracks, her hand coming back empty from behind her, acknowledging Cassandra's request while ignoring all of them at the same time, focusing instead entirely on Evey, her ice blue gaze piercing her thoroughly, and her voice as cold as her eyes, the tone carrying such venom that Cullen's blood froze in his veins.

-You _dare_ stand there looking like a humble and fair leader, a paragon of _justice_ and _integrity,_ \- she practically spat the last words. -Forgive me if I don't kneel, _your Grace._ \- She grimaced on the title, as if the words left a bitter taste on her tongue.

-You will kneel whether you like it or not if you dare to take another step,- sneered Dorian, his hands flaring with magic and ready to attack despite his lack of staff.

By then, everyone had fallen into something of an impasse, the people around them frozen in place, fearful that the slightest movement would break the precarious equilibrium and disintegrate in an open confrontation. Her companions, for their part, were also cautions. Not only were they unarmed save for Varric's crossbow, Cullen's sword and Dorian's raw magic, but they were also painfully aware of the overwhelming amount of civilians around them, who had unknowingly and potentially put themselves in danger just by stepping into the great hall that morning to eat their breakfast.

-Such loyalty.- The Warden looked pitifully at the mage, who in her eyes was nothing but a deceived, biased pawn. Then she looked back at Evey. -What have you done to deserve it, except sacrifice the lives of those you care nothing about in order to win the favor of those you do?

Her attention was now so focused on the Inquisitor that she failed to notice Blackwall walking slowly to her side, aiming to get close enough to subdue her. Seeing this, Evey tried to distract her further.

-You've lost someone. I understand that.- She tried to walk past Cullen, but found him standing in her way again, his hand once more reaching behind him until he touched her waist, silently begging her not to expose herself. -But this will lead you nowhere good. Just...

The sound of dozens of men stomping into the great hall cut off her words, the people around her sighing in relief at seeing Cullen's men entering the keep to protect the Inquisitor, no doubt alerted by a civilian that had slipped out of the hall and called the guards.

In less than ten seconds, the woman was trapped, Cassandra, Blackwall, Dorian, Varric and Cullen stopping her from reaching the Inquisitor, and a platoon of soldiers preventing her escape if she ever considered taking that chance.

For the span of time spent taking a single breath, no one moved, all of them carefully studying the others in search of a signal, a tingle in the muscle, a frown too deep, a spasm of the fingers. Anything to leap to action.

When that movement finally came, chaos erupted.

Faster than anyone would have thought was humanly possible, the woman turned her waist, reaching with a hand to her back once more and holding onto something, a distinctive ozone smell flowing toward them.

The soldiers at her back ran to stop her. Blackwall lunged forward to tackle her. Dorian called upon his magic, targeting her with the spirit mark, making her wince with the first wave of pain attacking her. Cassandra grabbed a tray from the table and wielded it like an improvised shield that without a doubt she was already picturing clashing against the Warden's face. Varric remained still, aiming Bianca at the woman's heart just in case, but knowing that any other shot meant only to wound her superficially ran the risk of hitting the soldiers behind her if she were to move at the last second, especially at the speed she had already shown she was capable of moving.

Everyone was acting according to their instincts, making the best of their personal abilities and trusting their guts to guide them, and Cullen was no exception.

When he saw the Warden's staff, he didn't think beyond stopping her magic from hurting anyone, especially Evey, and he reached for the nonexistent lyrium inside him, his Templar training still too engrained in his mind to think of anything else besides smiting her.

The only problem was that his last draught of lyrium had been less than a year ago, and was now long gone from his body, leaving only the years of experience that, in his urge to protect the woman he loved, assured him that purging all magic from the attacker's body was the only plausible solution, severing her contact with the Fade before she could take from him the only person who meant more to him than his very life. Without the lyrium to feed his dormant abilities, he immediately felt the world collapse, sparks of light flashing in front of his eyes as his head began to throb, making him lightheaded, his stance faltering and his arms losing the necessary strength to raise his sword.

It only lasted a second, and even if he'd wanted to venture a guess as to whether his heart was beating rapidly due to the need to pump blood to compensate for the lack of lyrium in his body or due to the paralyzingly cold panic he felt when his sight blurred and he lost the ability to fully protect Evelyn, he wouldn't have been able to.

None of the few Templars residing in Skyhold had yet to arrive, and without the smite, the Warden let her power loose before anyone could reach her. She drew a half circle with her staff around her body, flailing the weapon and sending Blackwall back in order to dodge the ice crystals growing at her feet and racing forward, climbing the table between her and the Inquisitor in the hopes of reaching Evelyn.

Cullen never saw how his men (or whomever had done it) brought the Warden down, for the moment he saw the icicles spawning from the floor and table toward them, he turned to push Evelyn down, covering her with his body, his mostly unrecovered sight forcing him to rely on touch to make sure she was secure in the cocoon he had created around her. Before he turned to do exactly that, though, he heard her shout at Varric in what he thought was a desperate attempt to stop the dwarf from killing the assailant, her voice faltering as Cullen stole the air from her lungs by pushing her to the ground.

When he stood a moment later, he laid a hand on her shoulder, preventing her from rising until he looked behind the table, where his men had subdued the woman and forced her to lie on the floor on her stomach.

After briefly checking Evelyn's state, noticing she was shocked but unharmed, he stepped forward to where two soldiers were pulling the woman to stand, her hands already bound behind her and her staff in Dorian's possession, the mage aiming at her with her own weapon and ready to strike her down if she tried anything else.

-Lock her up,- said Cullen as he walked toward them. -The Inquisitor will decide her fate later.- His words were like a dagger, hoping they carried his hate until they buried themselves in the woman's heart.

But instead of looking contrite, desperate or enraged, the woman simply focused her attention beyond the Commander, her eyes cold and deadly as she kicked a piece of metal forward with enough strength to reach Evelyn who had already surrounded the table and was standing a few feet away.

The Inquisitor picked up the object, turning it in her hand, and suddenly felt as if Solas' stonefist had struck her directly in the chest. She raised her eyes in time to see the triumphant look on the woman upon seeing the desperate recognition in Evey's eyes.

As the soldiers dragged her out of the hall and the Warden's form disappeared in the crowd, she uttered one last word, each syllable draining her heart of all blood, Evey's chest aching and her temples throbbing in pain.

- _Murderer._


	60. Chapter 60

Chapter 60: In Death, Sacrifice

-Are you sure about this?

Cullen's voice was barely audible in the small hallway outside to Skyhold's cells, his deep tone projecting anywhere but into Evey's ears. They were standing in front of the entrance to the dungeon, the door the only upgrade stonemason Gatsi accepted after he recommended not to rebuild that particular part of the keep out of fear that changing the weight distribution might stress cracks they couldn't see. So, beyond that new door and a few more modern locks on the cells, the prison was as they had found it.

Except for the fact that, now, it held a prisoner.

The Warden had been taken there as soon as she was apprehended, and Cullen had made sure that she was monitored from that moment on. Now, after too much time wasted discussing what to do with the woman, the Inquisitor had decided that she wanted to face her personally.

-Cullen, we've been through this for the last hour. I need to talk to her.

Ever since the attack in the great hall, Evey had been pensive, revealing little to nothing even to him, and that made Cullen uneasy. She had fallen too quickly into the same gloomy attitude he had witnessed after her incursion in the Fade, and that alone made him want to keep her as far from the source of that pain as possible. Right now, the source was waiting for them on the other side of the door and, for all he knew, the only thing they would get out of her would be more anguish and confusion, feelings that Evey had already bone far too often for his taste.

-Let _me_ talk to her,- he begged, hoping she would see reason.

-No. It has to be me.

He could tell it wasn't that she didn't trust him or his capabilities to manage the situation. This was personal, and he didn't need to see her hand tightening around whatever the Warden had kicked at her in the great hall to realize a deep pain was consuming her.

Trying to distract her from what he could see was a downward spiral, which would take her to a place he'd promised he would never let her fall into again, he took her free hand and gave it a firm squeeze, managing to bring her attention back his way.

-Just promise me you'll leave if things get out of hand.

The corner of her lips twitched in what, under better circumstances, would have been the dawn of a beautiful smile, but that now died as soon as it began.

-I promise. You can go now.- And she clasped her hand in his tightly before trying to release it and turn toward the door.

Cullen pulled slightly at the hand he refused to let go of until she faced him once again.

-I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you alone with her.- He frowned, bewildered that she would even consider that he'd accept leaving her with a woman who had tried to kill her little more than an hour ago.

-Cullen, she's locked inside a cell, and you posted three templars in case she even _thinks_ about using her magic. I won't be alone.- She shook her head as her features relaxed, the smile growing imperceptibly, giving her more of a tired look than one of happiness, one that in no way eased Cullen's mind or changed his resolve.

-No, you won't, because I'm not leaving.- He held her from the forearms and pinned her with his eyes. -Evey, she tried to kill you.

-And failed.

-Only because she was outnumbered.- For the span of a second, she seemed offended before reverting back to her previous tortured grimace, so he rushed to clarify, -Maker, I don't mean you couldn't have handled her, I just mean...- He sighed, trying a different approach. -You can't expect me to not care.- He raised a hand to her face, touching her lovingly. -When you're out on missions, there's nothing I can do, but here…- He leaned closer until he rested his forehead against hers. -Let me at least protect you here.

No sooner had his words left his mouth that he closed the distance and kissed her softly, briefly, but heavily charged with the fear he had felt only an hour ago.

When he pulled back, she was looking at him with a mixture of love and pain that broke his heart, and deciding to put an end to that, he nodded and opened the door, entering first just in case the situation had unraveled inside, one cautious hand on the pommel of his sword.

Nothing out of the ordinary was waiting for them on the other side of the door, unless one counted the fact that the prison had hardly seen such activity. Most prisoners thus far had only stayed for a few hours until Evelyn had judged them, and even then they had not needed more than two soldiers to keep an eye on them. Now, Cullen had displayed a complete operative inside. On one hand, there were not only three templars guarding the Warden's cell door, but also two archers standing on the other side of the prison with their quivers on the floor, close to their hands and in a perfectly straight line to where the Warden awaited, ready to strike her down if she were to move a finger without consent. As if that were not enough, Blackwall was also present, although he seemed more relaxed than the others, sitting pensively in a chair next to a brazier in the middle of the room.

Upon entering, Cullen's men stood to attention until he nodded to them, allowing them to stand at ease, the templars walking a few steps away when the Commander led the Inquisitor to the front of the cell.

-State your name.

-Warden Gavreau.

-Alright, Warden Gavreau.- In favor of keeping the relatively peaceful spirit that already seemed incredibly fickle, Cullen didn't comment on the fact that he had asked her name, and she answered with her title and surname. -Before we begin, let me remind you that if you so much as think about repeating that stunt in the Great Hall, you'll be immediately smat back, and if even then you persist, you'll be stricken down by the archers. Is that clear?

Once again, the woman decided to remain silent, but Cullen ignored it. She had understood the terms of this interrogation, and waiting for her cooperation for small things might make her less prone to answer the important questions, so he turned to give Evelyn the opportunity to begin.

-Inquisitor?

As of late, Cullen found it more and more difficult to keep up appearances in front of Evey, to act as if he was nothing beyond her Commander, but he usually repressed his feelings and desires, thinking of a moment where he could give her the kiss he was craving when she smiled, or hold her when there were no eyes to spy on them. But when things took a wrong turn and she looked as heartbroken as now, he was physically unable to stop his feet from moving toward her, thanking whatever deity that had given him the force to still behave professionally, but knowing that she needed his support as much as he needed to give it. Ignoring the fact that such familiarity would make anyone suspicious, he walked to her side and leaned close to her shoulder.

-Evey?- he whispered, his back to the cell to avoid showing his concerned expression to the prisoner. His hand twitched from the desire to touch her, to support her in what promised to be a difficult moment, but he stood still nonetheless, silently watching as she gathered her wits and found the courage to speak to the woman before her.

-I'm fine,- she whispered with a nod.

She walked a couple of steps, watching Cullen tense from the corner of her eye at her proximity to the Warden. She looked at the woman carefully, almost clinically, thinking of all the questions that had plagued her mind since she had entered the great hall, pondering each one and discarding them as irrelevant or downright stupid. It was obvious that the woman had lost someone and blamed her for it, and no matter how much she thought about it, there was only one place where they might've crossed paths before, so she opened with that.

-Were you in the Approach?

The woman sneered bitterly.

-In a way.

-What do you mean?- With each question, she felt the chilly fist around her column tightening, heralding an inevitable conclusion that Evey prayed would never come from the moment the woman kicked that bit of metal toward her.

The Warden raised her hand from the floor where she knelt, looking at her from a vantage point of what she clearly considered the moral high ground, rising above the inferior position they'd imposed on her by throwing her into that cell.

-Let me ask you this instead, Inquisitor: How many of those who serve and praise you daily have given part of their lives for you?- She could see the question had taken the Inquisitor by surprise, so she pushed her advantage. -How many hearts shattered at your whim when you sacrificed the lives of those that gave them meaning?- Emboldened when no one stopped her, she continued, -How many parents no longer sing to their children? How many lovers' beds are now cold and empty? How many families destroyed? How many lives are too many for the Herald of Andraste? Can you even tell?

Not much happened during the rant. Cullen stood there, looking at Evelyn in search of even a hint that he should step in to put a stop to this. Blackwall held the deepest frown on his face, staring at the Warden in something that bordered on hatred. The soldiers and templars were immobile, their faces as blank as they were trained to be, no condemnation for either parts despite their strong feelings against the woman's accusations.

But Evey was an open book. She looked overwhelmed, stunned by the woman's words, a deep despair crawling out of the Warden's mouth and across the floor between them, creeping up her legs until it reached her heart and took root there, squeezing it so strongly that she feared she would collapse at any moment. The Warden was right, her words like poisoned bolts striking targets as perfectly as if Varric were guiding them from Bianca's arms. She remembered the faces, the reproach in her followers' eyes when she forgave the Wardens, the desperation in the others when they saw how many of their brothers and sisters had fallen under the Inquisition's deadly advance into Adamant, the faltering voice of their representative as he told her they had no Warden of significant rank to guide them anymore.

As if she had read Evelyn's mind, the woman kept torturing her.

-You have _no_ idea of that, just as you don't have a clue about so much more.- Warden Gavreau raised her shackled hands and pointed to the man standing next to Cullen. -You have templars in your service, even when you turned your back on their Order. You sacrificed the last Senior Warden. You ignored the Chantry and played games with the Empire. You tie yourself to Starkhaven and dance in balls in Orlais. You ally with Tevinters and Ben Hassrath turned Tal Vashoth,- she ranted, grimacing in disgust. -Tell me: do you also bed the King of Ferelden to secure your lands in his territory?

That was the last straw for Cullen, and he made that clear by telling her that was enough in a tone too loud to be controlled, his gloved hand already unsheathing his sword as the archers behind Evelyn knocked arrows into their bows, waiting for the Commander's order to attack.

But the Warden was relentless and, unconcerned for her safety, she added.

-Where does the mighty Inquisitor draw the line?- Her tone began to raise, her anger surfacing as the words kept spilling out of her mouth, uncontrolled. -Is there anything you hold sacred? _Anything_ that you deem more valuable than the life of my Jean Marc?- And then she cracked, lowering her head to her knees and breathing deeply to stop the tears trying to spill from her eyes, tears that were mirrored glossily in Evelyn's, accompanied by a desperate realization that cut deep in her heart.

-Stroud…- The Inquisitor's tone was extremely low, a whisper lost beneath the Warden's ragged breathing. No one, not even those standing next to her, could have heard the late Warden's name leave her lips, Evelyn's voice instinctively rejecting the idea of calling him thus out loud, out of respect. But it needed to be done; she needed to know if Warden Gavreau meant him. Jean Marc was a common enough name in Orlais and, even though it was a Warden accusing her of dismissing the man's life, she desperately prayed there was a possibility that it was not him she was talking about, even when it seemed completely unanswerable.

A nagging memory rushed to her mind, one that she feared solved a mystery she had not dwelled on before, but that was now beginning to make sense after all these months in the dark.

Slowly, before her confidence abandoned her completely, the Inquisitor raised her eyes to the Warden, the question spilling past her lips without forethought.

-What is your name? Your full name?

The Warden looked back at her suspiciously, as if she thought Evelyn was trying to lure her into a trap.

-Ivaline Gavreau.

And then the image became clear.

She remembered Stroud's hoarse voice after she'd called his name. He had screamed, "For the Wardens!" before charging toward the Nightmare, distantly uttering his last words, which back then had sounded to her like, "Forgive me, Evelyn…" But his words transformed in her memory, until the phrase became unaltered in her mind, and she heard him at last mumbling, "Forgive me, Ivaline," both names too similar to be distinguishable in the midst of their escape.

Ivaline had been the last word on his lips as he faced his death, her memory giving him the courage to meet it bravely, even as he begged her forgiveness for failing to return to her side.

She had taken the life of the man this woman loved. She had split them, and so many others, and for what? To live one more day, to enjoy herself at Cullen's side, the very same comfort she had denied this woman and her lover.

Absently, she noticed the Commander standing next to her. He had read the desperation in her features and instinctively moved to aid her, to offer her support, even though she didn't deserve it. He couldn't know that his presence only deepened the pain, opening the wound further, her conscience screaming that he was only at her side now because she had callously sidestepped other people's love.

Ivaline was right. She was a murderer, and there was nothing she could say in her defense, her eyes taking on the task of admitting her guilt for her, while her lips reaffirmed what her mind was screaming.

-The badge…- She opened her hand then, the metal object Ivaline had thrown at her revealing a Warden's badge, similar to Blackwall's, but with distinct differences that displayed Stroud's own rank instead of that of a Warden Constable. Until then, Evelyn's hand had half hidden it, her palm covering the Warden's insignia in the middle while her fingers managed to grip the edges over the back, where nothing but random marks laid, evidence that the badge had at least as many years as Blackwall's. -It was Stroud's…

She hardly recognized her own voice, so hoarse and shaky.

Ivaline then looked back at her, ignoring everyone else, and her eyes shot daggers as she began to talk again.

-You sent it to Weisshaupt after you left him to die in the Fade. It was waiting for me when I arrived from the Deep Roads two weeks ago, looking for him. The only item my brothers and sisters could give me from the man I loved, along with a pathetic letter expressing the Inquisitor's deepest condolences.

Evey was now beyond herself. She couldn't will herself to utter a sound, the weight of Stroud's death coming back with a vengeance and pressing on her chest with the strength of a bronto.

It was Blackwall who intervened for her then, coming forward until he stood in front of the cell, closer than any of them had been until then.

-Stroud fought bravely, keeping the Warden's Oath to his last breath. In death, sacrifice. We serve to protect Thedas. We die to save others and that's just what he did.

 _-We?-_ For once, Ivaline's eyes left Evey and concentrated on Blackwall, her eyelids narrowing as if she was trying to recognize his face, until something fit into place. She didn't remember him, but recognized him from the stories about the Inquisitor she'd heard while riding to Skyhold. -So, you are the famous Blackwall. The honorable Warden that fights with the Inquisition.- Her words oozed disdain and sarcasm. -Tell me, brother,- she added, almost spitting the last word, -where were _you_ when Jean Marc sacrificed himself? You were there, were you not? You speak of oaths that you so heedlessly ignored to save your own skin. You are a _murderer_ , just like _her_.

To everyone's surprise, Blackwall didn't object, instead recoiling at her last words as if the Warden had slapped him.

In contrast, Cullen had had enough of Ivaline's accusations and, stepping forward, he hissed between his teeth.

-I swear on the Maker, one more word from you...

-And what? You'll _kill_ me, Commander? Go ahead. Stroud meant _nothing_ to you; why should I?- Cullen's hand flew to his sword, tempted to answer to her provocation, but Evelyn's hand stopped him, giving Ivaline time to sink the dagger further into her heart. -He was nothing but cannon fodder to all of you, but for me... for _us_ , he was more than you could ever understand. You can kill me now; go on!- She stood up and held the bars with both hands, her face a few inches away from Cullen, who was pushing Evelyn back. -But whatever you do with me now, you'll live, suffering the consequences of your actions until the day the demons you claim to battle come to take you to the Void where you belong, ... _Inquisitor_.

After that, Cullen took Evey's hand and pulled her out of there, muttering a few hastened orders to his men and taking her as far from there as he could.

No one intercepted them as he guided her toward the ramparts and beyond to his office, and the Inquisitor followed almost meekly, a submissive attitude that only spurred Cullen's ire even further.

Who did that woman think she was? Condemning Evey without even knowing her, reaching conclusions that were all _sorts_ of wrong without even checking her facts, letting her feelings cloud her mind until she elected herself judge and executioner against a woman they all owed their lives to, someone who walked into danger every day to secure the lives of everyone in Thedas, carrying the burden of her decisions and blaming herself without need of someone from the outside coming to lay even more guilt at her feet.

He ignored the part of his mind that asked how he would have reacted if he were in Ivaline's place, focusing instead on Evey's hand in his, on the resigned way she stood still where he left her once they entered his office and he rushed to close the doors.

The moment the last latch was in place, he walked toward her, barely stopping in time before holding her face with both hands, trying to redirect her eyes to him.

-Evey look at me. She's wrong,- he pronounced every word carefully, making sure she was indeed listening to him. -Please, sweetheart, don't believe her.

He was caressing her face now, terrified of losing her yet again to her grief and that, this time, he wouldn't be able to bring her back. The battle in the Approach had been too much for her then, the guilt of leading all those men to their deaths and losing Stroud too intense for someone without military training. He knew how to face losses, was prepared for it, and yet he had felt the desperation she had experienced after she walked out of the Fade. Seeing it all come back again due to that woman's words made him want to go straight back to the prison and...

No, that wouldn't help her. He needed to focus on Evey, on her feelings, on her grief, not on his anger.

Finally, she looked up at him, and his heart sunk when he registered the hollowness of her gaze.

-I know. I'll be fine I just... I need to be alone now.- She took his hand and tried to pry it off of her face, but he resisted.

-No, don't do this. Not again. Please.

-Cullen, please, just for a little while. I'll look for you in a few hours.

He knew he shouldn't allow it. He knew he should insist, but her eyes were so pleading that he let her go, promising himself to see her as soon as work allowed him.

oOo

By nightfall, Cullen was at his wits end. It was past midnight and he had lost count of how many times he had gone to Evey's room to check on her, only to be rejected or dismissed with some excuse that fooled no one. He had sent her lunch, tea, and dinner, only to receive notice that the first two trays had been returned intact, not even the drinks touched, and he was certain that the same would be said of her dinner if he hadn't given the order to leave the tray overnight.

He had been visited by almost every member of the inner circle, from Sera spouting incomprehensible insults at both the Warden and him for not being able to draw her out of her self imposed isolation, to Cassandra offering her assistance with whatever he thought might help Evey (as if he knew what that might be better than others in that moment), to Dorian who Cullen suspected had merely come to his office to have a witness while he unwound his frustration after he tried to enter Evey's room with as much success as he himself had. Even Leliana had sent her messenger to tell him that she was available should he needed her help to deal with the Warden, making Cullen cringe both at thinking exactly what Nightingale meant by that and at his inclination to accept the spy's assistance no matter what she had in mind.

Now, while everyone else was already in bed, Cullen extinguished the lamps in his office and, instead of going upstairs to his loft, closed it and walked toward the Great Hall, deciding that if he couldn't be with her, at least he wouldn't leave her completely alone.

The hall was deserted. Not even the most nocturnal of nobles lingered after the excitement of that morning, and Cullen's steps reverberated against the walls so much that he found himself grateful for the fact that Vivienne had moved to an actual room and was not there to shush him like she used to at whomever dared to walk the hall past midnight.

The door leading to her room was unlocked, as usual, so without sparing a cursory glance over his surroundings, he opened it, silently praising the worker who had seen to oiling the hinges to prevent everyone in the keep from hearing.

He took the stairs two at a time until he reached the turn in the tower, which he knew would make him visible to the soldiers standing guard outside Evey's room. If wouldn't do for them to see their Commander rushing toward the Inquisitor's room with the urgency that Cullen was actually feeling. Once he took the turn, he walked calmly toward them, the soldiers standing at attention when seeing him. Neither of them said a word though, not daring to question their Commander's presence here at this hour, so when Cullen finally spoke to them, they visibly tensed.

-Is there any news?

It was the woman who answered him, her voice showing concern for the Inquisitor, proof of the loyalty Ivaline had so blatantly disregarded.

-None since the maidservant brought her dinner. She said the Inquisitor was working at her desk, and that she left the meal on the coffee table at Inquisitor Trevelyan's request.

Cullen nodded firmly.

-You are dismissed. I'll keep guard until further notice.

-Ser.- Both soldiers brought their fists to their chest pieces in salute before leaving him in front of Evelyn's door.

So there he stood, straining his ears to catch any sound that would offer a clue as to what was going on inside, whether she was restless or had gone to bed already (not that he had any illusions of her willingly sleeping after what happened), to see if she needed help but didn't dare say it, if she walked down the stairs to ask for it but thought better in the last moment and refused to open the door… Anything that might hint of how she was dealing with the Warden's earlier accusations. But no such thing came, not even when an hour passed and he dared to open her door slightly to listen to any sound from within. Nothing.

Maybe that was good; maybe she had fallen asleep, but somehow Cullen doubted it. She was not the kind of woman to shake it off and move on without a care when it came to these particular things. She could easily disregard a noble's accusations about propriety or her decision to support a tripartite government for Orlais, or rather bipartite as far as anyone cared, considering Briala's influence in the Empire was from the shadows instead of out in the open. But no matter how many friends and advisors tried to reassure her on her competence as Inquisitor, guilt ever chased Evelyn when it came to the people they had lost along the way, to the point where when losses grew beyond the Inquisition's capabilities to compensate the families, she asked her parents for access to her personal trust fund, covering for the money herself if Josephine had been unable to procure it from the Inquisition's treasury. That was just one example that reminded Cullen this would not just go away, and he was determined to save her from herself if necessary. For now, he was giving her time and space, just as she had asked, but his patience was growing thin too quickly and he knew that by tomorrow morning, he wouldn't be able to stand her seclusion.

As it turned out, it never came to that, because only two hours into his guard shift, he heard her scream so painfully that the blood froze in his veins and his heart leapt to his throat, making him stop his incessant pacing and bolt up the stairs.

On the thirty-six steps that led to her room, Cullen's mind was kind enough to conjure up a host of dismal causes for her scream. Could Ivaline have escaped from her prison and gotten to her? No, that was ridiculous. He hadn't received notice of that, and even if she were somehow able to break out of her cell, there were guards every step of the way from there to Evey's room. Maybe the Warden had called upon a demon while using blood magic and commanded it to attack her? They had confiscated her weapons, but with enough determination she could have utilized the coarse stones in the walls to cut herself and gain access to the powerful dark magic lying dormant and just a few drops of blood away from her grasp. Or perhaps Ivaline had announced herself after she'd paid someone to poison Evelyn's food? Or applied something deadly to Stroud's badge, a substance that could act slowly enough to divert their suspicions? Maker, what if she had hired a Crow to climb the Herald's balcony while he was just standing outside her room like an idiot to respect her privacy?

His mind was so frantic that it practically kept up with the frenzied pace of his boots as he climbed step after step in his desperation to reach her, another cry making him take the last three steps in one massive stride just to save what might be precious seconds.

When he finally saw her after what felt like an eternity, he pushed away everything in his path until he was kneeling next to her trembling form. Somehow, she had ended up curled on the floor in front of her dead fireplace, her body shaking and her hair drenched with sweat, mumbling unintelligible things and gripping his coin as if her life depended on it. He immediately took her in his arms and pulled her over his lap to search for the wound that was surely making her cry out, until he turned her over and saw her eyes were shut and her body too pliant in movement to be conscious. Whatever she was facing, it was beyond his reach somewhere deep in the Fade, so he did the only thing he could, cradling and rocking her, wishing he could step into the Fade as easily as Solas did and fight whatever was torturing her.

-Shhh, easy. I'm here Evey; you're not alone.- But she didn't respond, her eyes twitching while she whimpered miserably. -Please, sweetheart, wake up,- he said close to her ear, trying to use his voice where his caresses had failed.

She didn't wake up, but after a while she relaxed in his grasp, instinctively snuggling closer to him, even when all she could feel was the cold metal of his chest piece.

He stayed like that, rocking her softly for some time. He ran his fingers through her hair and kissed the top of her head, trying his best to repress the tears that welled in his eyes. She had enough as it was being the Inquisitor to have to deal with this now, and it pained him that he was unable to shield her from unfair accusations which brought forth the suffering she worked so hard to keep at bay in order to be the ideal Inquisitor. Each day, he told himself that they asked too much of her, and he feared someday the demands of her title would prove too intense for her to withstand. The simple sound of her whimpers stabbed his heart as certainly and as painfully as any sword could, making him feel completely useless each time he couldn't do anything to help her. For him, she had been an endless well of peace, her mere presence giving him the strength he needed to face whatever challenges he was presented with. He had successfully overcome his lyrium addiction, the symptoms now troubling him rather sporadically, only the nightmares remaining as proof of the dangerous and torturous process of detoxification and the traumatic experiences of his past. And he wouldn't have been able to do any of that if she hadn't been there to support him, to strengthened his resolve whenever he'd been about to fall back into old habits, when he felt he was not strong enough or that he simply didn't deserve to be free of the chains the Chantry had bestowed upon him so many years ago. One smile, one look, a single caress from her could work wonders on him, giving him something else to hold onto, something to dream beyond the song of lyrium. And when he thought she couldn't possibly give him anything more, she had given him her heart, a gift sweeter than any and all the effects of lyrium, better than any drug or victories in battle, a promise of a life he never dared to dream, one that he desperately wanted to provide to her, one that he promised himself he would do anything necessary to make sure they could both experience together. And that commitment involved saving her from her own guilt and recrimination.

She didn't want him there, he knew. Her silence had been enough for him to understand that, but he also knew that she thought of others more than she thought of herself, and that some of the isolation she had imposed could very well be the result of her trying to protect him (and her friends) from the frustration of trying and failing to make her feel better, from the pain of seeing someone they cared for spiral down into desperation, or worry them beyond what was usual when she risked her life (and with it, those of everyone in Thedas).

But what she didn't understand was that pushing them away would never be the better option, and that no matter how hard she pushed, they would never leave her, Cullen less so than anyone.

So now, in the solitude of her room, lit only by the soft glow of the oil lamp placed far away on her desk, Cullen held her until the nightmares stopped, carrying her to bed as soon as her face relaxed in a peaceful expression and placing her carefully in her bed, allowing her to finally rest now that there was nothing disturbing her in the Fade.

He took her boots off and briefly considered undressing her. It wouldn't be the first time he would see her in her smallclothes. After all, he had done that even before they were together, when he had helped Solas treat her wound in the Approach, not to mention when they shared a tent, or that very same morning, when they awoke together after sleeping in each other's arms with scarcely enough clothes to be considered decent. But in all those instances, she had been the one to remove them, willingly disrobing of her own accord. Of course, there had been that one time where they had needed to undress her after they found her freezing to death in the mountains, but that had been a necessity without which she wouldn't have pulled through, but this time it was nothing of the sort. This time, he was considering undressing her purely for her comfort, and even if no one would have discussed that after what had happened that day, she deserved to feel better. No, Cullen would never cross a line she had not expressly authorized him to cross. So with that in mind, he simply placed her boots beside her bed, lifted her legs from the floor, and tucked her in with a thin summer sheet before walking away, deciding to stay in her room to guard her until dawn.

Normally during guard shifts he would walk, even pace sometimes, to keep himself busy and not fall asleep, but he feared the sound of his boots would wake her before long, so that was out of discussion. He wondered if it would be wrong to take them off and pace to his heart's content, but all his Templar training rebelled against the idea. It wouldn't do for him to be barefoot when he demanded seriousness and commitment from his men, and that was not the example he wanted to set.

Due to that and the fact that, for the first time in almost a decade, he was alone during a guard shift, the night, advanced as it was, became incredibly long, culminating in him sitting before Evey's desk, looking at her while she slept, still somehow restless, but at least without suffering from further nightmares.

When the sun was yet to fully awake from its nocturnal sleep, barely making a dent on the dark of the night, she rolled in bed, her breathing more shallow, prompting him to rise from the chair and sit next to her.

Cullen spoke before she opened her eyes, just in case she hadn't noticed the bed giving in under his weight.

-Good morning, my sweet,- he said, pushing her hair back and caressing her cheek.

Only a day ago, roughly at this hour, he had awakened and watched her sleep, transfixed by how happy and peaceful she looked. Then, after oversleeping longer than either of them would have expected, they woke up to find each other, culminating in a moment that still made him shudder with desire just remembering the pleasure she had given him.

Now, as she opened her sleepy lids, Evey was still breathtakingly beautiful to his eyes, but the complete opposite of how she had looked yesterday morning. She was frowning, confused and disoriented, not only from not comprehending why was he there, but also not exactly hiding the fact that his presence didn't bring her the solace she had felt the day before, when she awoke to his tender kisses.

-Cullen? What are you doing here?

She immediately sat up on her bed, his hand sliding down her face until he pulled it back.

-I was keeping guard outside your room when you screamed. I feared something was wrong and I entered.- He caught her hand in his, but didn't feel her hold it in kind, her fingers laxer in his. -You were on the floor in front of your fireplace, having a nightmare.

That seemed to trigger her memory, and for a second he saw naked fear cloud her eyes.

-Right.- She suppressed the shudder that ran down her spine at the memory, and raised her hand to rub her forehead. Then she looked back at him and smiled briefly, the gesture not quite reaching her eyes. -I'm sorry if I scared you.

-You did, but not because of that.- He searched her eyes, lowering his head until she looked at him again. -Evey, you can't let her affect you. Not like this, not alone.- He stroked her cheek again, outlining dark circles below her eyes, visible even beneath her tan.

-I know and... I've made a decision.- He nodded, encouraging her to tell him. And she did. -Release her.

For a second, Cullen actually considered that he had misheard her.

-What?- He replayed her words in his mind, and when he realized he had heard her correctly, he rubbed his forehead, fearing this would end in a fight. -Evey, at risk of repeating myself, that woman tried to kill you.

Evey's face didn't change, her resolve frightening Cullen.

-I've been thinking about that. I don't think she really meant to kill me.- He almost interrupted her then, so she raised her hand and rushed to add, -Just think about it: if you had an open path straight to the person you wanted dead, would you yell at them, warning everyone in the room of your intentions?- She didn't let him answer. -No! You would just take the chance you have and deal with the consequences later!

-Evey, you can't release her. You can't just let this slide.- His tone was becoming more tense, the frustration of her ridiculous request affecting him already.

-And what do you suggest I do? Kill her?

Maker! This woman knew how to crawl under his skin! She was staring at him with arms crossed, her eyebrow raised as if defying him to go against her logic.

-Yes!- Her eyes grew larger in the thousandth of a second that it took him to correct his first impulse. -No!- he sighed, exasperation growing faster than he had hoped. -I don't know!- There was no way that his tone wouldn't qualify as yelling, so he got up from bed and began pacing. -But certainly don't let her walk out of here to potentially plan another attack on your life as if nothing had happened!- He pointed toward the mountains, as if he knew where the Warden would go once released.

-I don't see any other option than this.

Her tone was so cold and distant that it only spurred Cullen's ire. For the first time since he'd met her, she was acting like a spoiled noble and, unfortunately, knowing she was far from that stereotype didn't help Cullen in that moment. He was on the verge of exploding, walking back and forth from her balcony to her bed over and over, his steps firmer by the second in a vain attempt to release some of his rising anger.

-You don't?! You mean to tell me that between the dozens of possibilities, you can't consider anything besides releasing someone who represents a clear threat on your life?- She just looked at him as impassive as before, almost as if she were challenging him to present her with an alternative that didn't sound ridiculous to her mind. Cullen scratched his hair in irritation and said the first thing that came to his mind, if only to show her the fallibility of her plan. -Defer her to the Wardens at Haven.

She shook her head, not even considering it for a second.

-I can't do that. They're under the Inquisition's protection. They wouldn't be able to offer an objective alternative.

-Have you considered that maybe there's a reason for that?- He was now speaking behind clenched teeth, his restraint about to snap.

-I've considered more than you could imagine,- she grumbled, now also biting her words, -including the fact that I took the most important person in that woman's life from her. I'm not about to take her freedom as well!

-So, you're asking me to put in danger the most important person in _my_ life so you don't feel guilty for locking her up?!- The unintentional confession was lost between what he knew had been an unfair punch. She was asking him to release Ivaline to more than just avoid feeling bad about herself, but the insanity of this whole situation was driving him crazy.

After a few seconds of complete silence, looking at each other with such defiance that he was certain electricity would flow between them at any moment, he felt himself relaxing, his mind reminding him that the grief and guilt was not letting her think straight. It was just when he was about to try to reason with her again, suggesting to send the Warden to Weisshaup instead, or call Leliana and Josephine to offer another idea since Maker knew he was not in a position to think straight with her acting so condescending and disregarding her own safety as if it were nothing of consequence, that she spoke again, her tone colder than before, the formality behind it piecing his heart.

-Don't make me point out the fact that I'm your superior, Commander. I've given you an order.

If looks could kill, Cullen would already be considering ending his own life after striking her where she sat with merely the intensity and indignation in his eyes when he turned to look at her. His blood began to boil and his temper snapped, demanding retribution from the woman in front of him. In the short seconds before he answered, his face showed a plethora of feelings, from pain, to disappointment and indignation, settling finally on cold, hard indifference, the mask of Commander coming to his aid even as he felt himself dying behind it.

-And I'll face the consequences of my insubordination, Inquisitor.

Evelyn's careful impervious facade didn't break until after she heard the door of her room shutting violently. As Cullen walked down the stairs of her tower, she curled on her bed and cried.

He didn't understand.

oOo

She didn't understand!

Two hours later, when the sun was up and breakfast had been served in the main hall, Cullen sat at a table in the company of a few members of the inner circle, still upset by what had happened with Evey. She was being beyond reckless. This was nothing like choosing the mages instead of the templars to seal the breach, or ignoring his advice on making Gaspard de Chalons the sole ruler of Orlais, or arriving with the news of yet another dragon hunt. Those, infuriating as they all were, had been decisions taken with some degree of wisdom. Mages, in her opinion, had been a better option to help them understand the breach rather than suppressing it; the new triumvirate was something that would help the Empire to cement better alliances and would stop not only the War of the Lions, but also, with any luck, end the injustices committed against the elves now that one of their kind was secretly in power as well. Even fighting dragons had a certain logic, considering Evelyn never picked a fight with the creatures if they were not a direct threat to a settlement. But this?

This was downright irresponsible or, putting it in less appropriate words, straight stupidity, an idea that he was not willing to indulge, no matter what she said or did. He doubted she would demand any reprisal for his refusal in following her orders, but then again, he would never have expected she would use her title of Inquisitor to try bending his will, and she had surprised him still.

-You alright there, Curly? I'm getting the chills just watching you cut that sausage.

-Remind me never to piss you off, Commander,- added Blackwall, looking down at Cullen's plate.

They were right. He had being cutting into that sausage so viciously that even if it had been a piece of wood and not the tender meat served in Skyhold, he would have successfully carved a slice of it eventually. And perhaps the most ridiculous part of it was that he wasn't even hungry; he was just trying to vent his frustrations before he could actually use the training dummies later on, which was a more reasonable option than using the recruits' training for the same reason.

Sighing, he dropped the cutlery and looked back at both men, but before he could utter a single word, he heard a mumbling voice at his side.

-Reckless, mindless, stubborn, infuriating. She wants something that I can't give. _Won't_ give.- Cole was talking almost absently, reading Cullen's mind while staring at the food on the table, trying to decide what to pick. Then his eyes looked up as if he was focusing on Evey's tower over them, and he began again, his voice softer this time. -Darkness threatens us. He saves us and I run, faster, further, away from all but not completely. She catches me, accuses me, reminds me.- And then, almost as a whisper, -Murderer…

-That took a darker turn than I thought,- added Varric, swallowing the joke he had been about to say after Cole accused Cullen of not being willing to give the Inquisitor what she wanted.

Cullen ran his hand through his hair in exasperation, placing his elbow on the table and holding his head in his hand.

-Evelyn wants to release Warden Gavreau.

-As in "crazy mage with a personal vendetta" Warden Gavreau?- pried Varric, but Cullen just nodded, too tired to add anything else. Not that it was necessary, considering the conclusion the dwarf arrived at a second later. -Well, shit.

-Voice calling me from beyond, luring me to the trap. I need to run, escape. Flee don't fight, live, love, lose.- Cole kept going, filling his plate as if he didn't noticed he was rambling. Then his tone changed, the words acquiring a soft, feminine, Orlesian tone. -Fade fuelling fright, frantic fears and friends fleeting. Alone, abandoned, absent...

-Cole,- warned Solas, breaking the careful silence he had kept so far.

-Gone,- ended Cole before raising his eyes to Cullen. -I can help. She is in pain. I can make her forget.

-The Herald doesn't want to forget, Cole.

-No, not her.- Again his eyes became glossy. -Blighted blood and blessed kisses. Shrieks shifting, searching. He calls and they're gone. Peaceful eyes greet me back, but no more. A name turned curse, a cause becomes a reason. She enters, yelling, yearning, but finally yielding. Trapped, a traitor and terrorist. I failed you, my love. I lost you again.- He looked at Cullen once more, his eyes glinting with a revelation. -No, not forget, _forgive_. She needs to forgive!

oOo

She thought she would never see this part of the Fade so clearly again. She dreamed of it regularly, its memory haunting her, but only now did she realize that she had never conjured the image in all its disturbing glory. It was all there, the torturous terrain, the sickening green light, the clean skeletons, varied in shapes and sizes hinting at the different races of the victims, the Black City witnessing all from the foggy sky, the sickly mist covering the floor, the rocky pikes surrounding the hill where the rift was open and waiting for them, and even the bloodstream hindering their way. She saw Blackwall, Cole, and Solas, all rushing to jump through the rift after she encouraged them to it, knowing that when they would disappear behind it, she would be left to make the hardest decision she had ever faced.

When Blackwall was no longer visible, everything around her quieted, the silence even more oppressing that her companion's voices yelling for her to run just a second ago. She could feel it tingling on her skin, crawling over the tiny hairs in the back of her neck, awaiting. And she didn't want to face it. Like a coward, she wanted to run to the rift and leave all of this behind, save her life and think about the consequences once she was safe... just as she had done that day.

But she couldn't. No matter how her whole body demanded that she run forward, she forced herself to turn instead, facing whatever waited there for her.

The first thing she saw was the spider. Once an imposing creature looming over them from a thread that was lost in the fog above their heads, now it laid butchered at the side of the hill, its body battered, pieces of its legs scattered all around her, only a few of its thousand eyes closed to death while the others had disappeared under a sword that shouldn't have fought alone.

She realized then that it had been impossible to not see it before, but reality in the Fade was fickle, capricious, and ever changing. What was now there, or shouldn't have been there, was easily depicted as a hope, a fear, or even a taunt to push the sanity of its visitors beyond what was humanly possible. And what it now showed her, walking toward her, was all of that in one. The hope of survival, of guilt and regret lifted, the fear of facing nothing but an illusion, or even worse, a reality that she had trapped in that Maker forsaken place, and the taunt of showing her the outcome she had wished for before giving up and walking through the rift, closing it behind her.

He looked just like the last time she had seen him. Armor covered in blood and black goo, sweaty hair in disarray, the Warden's sigil scratched through the middle by one of the many creatures that had attacked them, one strap of the breast piece falling languidly from his shoulder where a demon's claw had cut it clean, tearing also his gambeson and mixing the grime with red blood pouring from a gush underneath. And then, as he drew nearer, his hair fell back into place as if an invisible hand were combing it, his armor began to glisten again just as it did every morning after he shined it, the leather strap holding the breast piece in place again as some undetectable magic closed all wounds, his features finally matching the peaceful expression he had shown from the moment he appeared at the creatures' side.

Before she could utter a word, though, the rift behind her opened, and a green light shone over her shoulder. It hadn't yet extinguished when Evelyn heard a voice that, despite the short time she had known it, already had the power to make her shudder. Only this time the voice was not spewing venom at her, but instead sounded much like Evelyn herself whenever she spoke to Cullen.

-Jean!

But the happiness in the voice was immediately gone when the woman noticed Evelyn standing a few feet away. She rushed to place herself between the man and the Inquisitor, and wasted no time in calling forth her magic, fingers twitching with raw energy, ready to strike Evelyn down.

-Ivaline…- Stroud's soft, deep voice reached the woman from behind her ear, the man she had thought lost, the one she loved more than life itself finally touching her again, even if his hands were holding her arms down to keep her from hurting the Inquisitor. -Stop, my love.

Ivaline's hands trembled, desperation shining in the tears forming in her eyes. She was torn between facing the Inquisitor to protect him or to turn in his arms and enjoy this moment.

-She killed you… She deserves the same.

Stroud didn't answer immediately, instead holding her by the forearms and turning her until, reluctantly, Ivaline drew her eyes from the Inquisitor.

He whispered something in Orlesian that sounded sweet and loving, an endearment reserved just for her, one that he had whispered countless times while lost in her love, holding her in the stolen hours before the light of the day came through their window to force them away from each other's arms. Evelyn spoke fluent Orlesian, but the words were so soft that she didn't catch what he'd called Ivaline, and deep down she felt grateful for it, because if his tone of complete devotion and adoration hadn't been enough to warn her of the intimacy of the moment, Ivaline's heartfelt whimper would have done it.

The mage raised her hands to Stroud's face, caressing him while his strong arms prevented her from falling to the ground as the emotion of his presence and the love behind his words made her knees buckle. She was looking at him, searching for some clue that might confirm that this time was different, if the man holding her so adoringly was in fact the same person who still owned her heart, and not some cruel representation of the Fade that would vanish without warning, leaving her abandoned and desperate, lost in a Void where not even an eternity of wandering could let her escape.

But instead of disappearing or twisting its form into one of a desire demon, Stroud only held her, looking at her as if she were Andraste herself, his personal goddess again in his arms, her lips quivering with emotion and her eyes pleading for this to be real, allowing one single tear to fall from her cheek before she stood on the tip of her toes and claimed his mouth, breaking the dam keeping her feelings at bay, letting tears flow freely while her lips tried to kiss and smile at the same time. She noticed the countless details in his kiss that no spirit or demon could ever replicate, and if something were missing, she was so lost in his love that she ignored it altogether, her mind trying to convince her that this time, this moment, was real, that she had finally reunited with him.

Evelyn felt like a lecher, standing there witnessing such passion in their embrace which only broke her heart further with the knowledge that she had been the one to separate them, that she was the one for whom Stroud had left Ivaline behind, destroying his lover in the process. This should be a moment for them alone, and she couldn't imagine why their dreams had interlaced when these two should have enjoyed whatever miracle had given them a moment to share after death had so cruelly intervened. Even if this was not really him, even if the Fade was just giving Ivaline the chance to find closure by taking Stroud's form to allow her the possibility of kissing him one more time, of feeling his arms surrounding her and his voice whispering loving nothings in her ear, a chance to say goodbye, Evelyn's presence could not do anything but disrupt the peace the Warden could find in the illusion. Why, then, she had been called to this side of the Fade?

As if the sight of them together was not enough, their voices reached her, travelling the distance she had set after retreating quietly to give them some semblance of intimacy. She could hear them as clearly as if she were standing at their side, and what she heard only made her despise herself even further.

-Come back with me... to me, please!- Ivaline was pleading, kissing his lips, his mustache, his jaw and back to his mouth, trying to cover every inch of him she could with her love. -Don't leave me again.

-I wish I could.- Stroud's voice sounded controlled but harsh, the love still there, but the tone restrained as if he was making an effort not to break.

-She _killed_ you,- she sobbed, surrounding him with her arms and holding him tight, refusing to let him go lest she lose him all over again.

Evelyn held back a sob and felt her knees give in under the weight of her guilt.

-She didn't,- he said, holding her close to him. -It was my duty…- He pushed her back slightly and held her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. -In death, sacrifice.- Ivaline's whimper turned into a cry of desperation, and Stroud's brow creased, reflecting the same pain as he spoke. -She has the key to our salvation. Your salvation. I needed to know that I'd done something to give you the chance to live on, my love.

Ivaline's tears spilled to the sides when she shook her head, desperate to deny what he had just said.

-No, not without you! _Never_ without you!- And she buried her face again in his chest, crying out loud.

-Yes, without me… until the day we meet again.- He raised her face once more and kissed her deeply, his love filling her body and, somehow, drying her tears. -I love you... always. I'll be waiting for you.

Ivaline slowly fell on her knees as Stroud's form lost substance as if, even as he was disappearing, he had softly placed her on the floor, refusing to let go of her completely.

As the Warden sobbed on the floor, her breathing gradually returning to normal, Evelyn felt a presence at her side, followed by a voice she knew all too well.

-Pain slicing, slashing, splitting me in half,- Cole whispered, his words reaching her from somewhere on her left with the same clarity that Stoud and Ivaline's had. -Not without you, never without you. Hurt, hate, love and grief. She killed him,- he said with a cadence that resembled Ivaline's own, only to change to Stroud's the next second. -She didn't.- And then again to his own, reading the woman's mind. -Alone, lost, adrift...- He paused for a couple of seconds before adding, -At peace…

Ivaline took a deep breath, still kneeling on the floor. Then she looked at the horizon, following the rising green fog until her eyes rested on the Black City, high in the sky. She sighed again from a deep breath, and the world around them changed to one that Evey didn't recognize, but that seemed to infuse the Warden with the clarity of mind she needed. When she stood, the outlines of a fortress' courtyard decorated with the Grey Wardens' banners was defined all around them.

Then, almost sluggishly, Ivaline turned to Evelyn, ignoring the boy standing at her left completely.

For a second, she seemed to consider something, looking at the Inquisitor with a plethora of emotions shining in her eyes, the tracts of drying tears on her cheeks only expressing half of them. Then, without warning, she silently nodded to her, turned again, and walked away until she was lost in the woods beyond the open gates of the fortress.

- _Forgiven_.

It was the last word Cole whispered before Evelyn woke up from her dream.

By the time the sun began to paint the mountains with the promise of a new day, the cell that had once held Warden Gavreau was revealed to be now empty, the guards failing to remember the prisoner's escape, or the soft steps of a Spirit of Compassion leading her to freedom.


	61. Chapter 61

Chapter 61: In War, Regret

It was two days since the disappearance of Warden Gavreau and normality was returning to Skyhold. Apart from Cullen and Blackwall, everyone seemed to have left the issue behind in light of weightier matters requiring their attention.

It wasn't that Evey was entirely recovered, but after the night she dreamed of Stroud and woke up to the news of Ivaline's escape, things had been easier to accept for her. There were still so many questions, of course. In fact, that very same morning she had finally taken the time to talk with Solas after she finished her delayed paperwork.

The elf was more than happy to help her, as was usually the case whenever they discussed the Fade, willing to bring up both his visions and theories about how the spirit realm worked.

It hadn't been a surprise to find out that Cole had received a little help from the elf himself. Since facing the templar that had killed the real Cole, the spirit had been more attuned with the Fade and was now able to also enter the realm to help others in need. But he was still no dreamer, and therefore had needed the help of Solas to draw both her and the Warden to a common dream where they had been able to leave their sorrow behind, Evelyn finding the strength to let go of her guilt just as Ivaline had done the same with her anger.

But there was still something else that roamed Evey's mind, and that had been the real reason as to why she had searched for Solas' input.

-Was it real?- she had asked, a question that was always a controversial one for Solas, so much so that before he could answer, she knew what he would say.

-That is a matter of debate,- he said, dividing his attention between their talk and his studies.

-You said the same when you took me to Haven after the attack.

Solas nodded, impassive as always, raising his eyes from the shard he was inspecting to smile at her as only he could, resembling a tutor instructing a young student.

-It was just as true then as it is now, _ma falon_.

-I know but...- She sighed, -Was _he_ real? Was it really _him_?

-It was real enough for both of you. As tangible and accurate as Warden Gavreau needed to allow Cole to help her.- He looked up once again and laid eyes on Evey's discouraged expression, as if he had broken her heart without even trying.

-So he was an illusion…

-Was Divine Justinia an illusion? Were the memories you recovered while walking through the Fade nothing but a construct of your mind?

She shook her head.

-I don't know.

-The Fade echoes the lives surrounding us, both current and past. It shapes memories and reflects them. Sometimes, that can be nothing but the remnants of experiences long gone. Others, it can give birth to new ones that feed on our emotions to reveal what lies buried deep in our hearts and minds. And on some extremely rare occasions, it can give us a glimpse of things beyond our knowledge or comprehension.

-So… he _could_ have been really there? With her?- a flash of panic reflected in her eyes, fearing the answer at the same time that she craved it.

When she raised her gaze from the desk to his face, Solas was shaking his head.

-I cannot say for certain, Inquisitor.- Her shoulders slumped in defeat. If he didn't know, then no one could. -But rest assured that even if it was him, he was beyond your help.- He made a pause, letting the idea sink in her mind. -The Fade is… unpredictable. Take comfort in the fact that, just as with the Divine, you brought him peace, whether it was the real man or not.

After that, they just left the matter there. There was no point discussing it further. Solas had been her last chance to shed light on the subject after Cole answered her with more ramblings that, far from easing her mind, disturbed her further, especially considering she had tried to hide that discomfort from Cole to not make him feel bad for failing to help her.

But since she was not the only one affected by Ivaline's visit, she decided that it was time to leave her own problems behind in favor of helping those who, while she'd been wallowing in self pity, had done their best to set things straight, even if in the end the solution had come from Cole's infinite compassion instead of the others' undying loyalty.

Cullen had informed her of the hours Blackwall had spent in the prison, trying to reason with his fellow Warden, as well as his frustration when, in the best of cases, he walked out of there having garnered nothing but an unnerving silence from Ivaline. On the worst occasions, even the soldiers standing guard in the courtyard had been able to hear the condemning accusations from the Warden toward her brother in arms, as well as the ever present hatred specially reserved for the Inquisitor herself.

It wasn't news either that Blackwall had secluded himself inside the barn since the afternoon he had joined Cullen and a group of soldiers to search for Ivaline in Skyhold's vicinity. And from that day on, he had only left the safety of what had come to be considered his private quarters exclusively to train and eat, though the last one was becoming scarcer with each day. As far as she understood, Blackwall had eluded each and every one of their companions when they had gone to try and talk to him about whatever was torturing him. Instead, he had focused on his carvings, his training, or those long walks he had begun a few weeks ago that once a week resulted in a lovely batch of rare white flowers, delivered to Josephine by an "anonymous admirer."

At first, she had asked the others to respect his privacy, even if part of her mind always wondered how her friend was faring, despite the extensive paperwork demanding her attention. She had given him the space he had requested, hoping that he too would leave Ivaline's hurtful words behind, in time. As the days ticked by, though, and Blackwall didn't seem to improve, she decided that she would try her own luck at drawing the Warden out of his self imposed confinement.

But when she reached the stables, the only trace of her friend was an unfinished carving of a griffon rocking chair for the children of Skyhold with a note nailed to it.

-Inquisitor, you've been a friend and an inspiration. You've given me the wisdom to know right from wrong and, more importantly, the courage to uphold the former. It's been an honor to serve you.

Josephine's voice faltered as she read the end of the letter. It wasn't signed, but none of them needed that, or the reports of the gate guards saying Warden Blackwall had been spotted leaving the fortress at dawn in what looked like another excursion to the mountains, to know who it was from.

-My men found this in his private quarters.- Leliana handled her a crumpled sheet of paper. -It was missing from last week's reports.- As Evelyn read it, Leliana turned to the other advisors to explain. -It's the announcement of the execution of Lieutenant Cyril Mornay for his involvement in the Callier Massacre of 9:37.

-What's Blackwall's interest in this Mornay?- inquired Cullen, his eyes fixed on Evelyn's worried face.

-We have no idea, but this is our only lead on where Blackwall might have gone.- She raised her eyes to Evelyn while she placed the report on the table for anyone who wanted to read it. -It's up to you to decide what to do, Inquisitor.

Evey didn't need to think twice about it. Between the tone of his note and the report Leliana had handled her, she knew that no matter what was happening, her friend needed her, even if he didn't appear to want it.

-There's always some dog out there,- she whispered Blackwall's words, eerily appropriate now that she had read the report on Mornay.

Was that it? Was that the reason he had left them? To save Mornay? Or perhaps Callier had been the dog and he had gone to witness Mornay hang to death for, to give him closure from the loss of a friend? She didn't know, but that morning at the Herald's Rest suddenly became more than what it had seemed back then, Blackwall's words echoing in her mind with a premonitory tone that she now hated having ignored.

-What was that, Inquisitor?- Leliana asked, either confused by her words or genuinely curious after being unable to hear them.

-A few days ago, Blackwall and I had a chat. He was disappointed with himself, talked about how people turned their eyes from injustice. I'm not saying I know what this means to him,- she indicated Mornay's report on the table, -or why he decided to face it alone, but I know that he wouldn't have abandoned the Inquisition if it wasn't important to him. And I'm not going to turn my back on him after all he's done for us. I'm leaving for Val Royaux tomorrow at dawn.

Everyone took that as it was, a dismissal. But as Leliana and Josephine walked out of the War Room, Cullen lingered, hoping to talk to her.

-Are you alright?

It was a stupid question, he knew, but it was his way of giving her the chance to confide in him and maybe, subconsciously, it was a way to test her, to see if she had truly forgiven him both for their fight and for ignoring her orders concerning Ivaline.

The morning he had been warned of her escape, he had run to her room praying to find her safe, or at least to reach her in time. The fear he had experienced the night he'd heard Evey scream multiplied now that he knew for a fact that the woman who had tried to kill her was on the loose. When he opened the door, calling her name, he had found her half dressed with her daggers already unsheathed, her eyes alert and her body taut, ready to fall into action at the slightest sign of danger. He remembered he had run to her, almost as if her door had not dampened the impulse with which he had climbed the stairs of her tower, and had taken her in his arms. Without even stopping to think whether she would accept him after their dispute, he had hugged her close to him while kissing every inch of skin he could find. His fear had lingered even with the proof of her safety in front of him and under his arms. In his relief, he hadn't even remembered they had argued, and after a short explanation, she had only needed to see the pained expression in his eyes to make her forget everything as well. And just like that, in the middle of her room, she had held him tightly and let all the tension in her body abandon her as she allowed the tears to flow freely while she told him about her dream.

Now there was something else that made her worry, and Cullen couldn't help but caress her frown with his thumb, letting it fall down the side of her face afterwards while he gathered her in his arms.

-I should have known something else was bothering him.

-You couldn't have known…- He maneuvered her head with a hand on her chin to raise her face to him. -He hasn't been the same since he talked to Gavreau.- She was shaking her head before he could finish.

-No. Maybe she pushed him further, but he wasn't himself even _before_ her arrival.- She looked at him and her pained expression broke his heart. -I don't like this, Cullen. Something is wrong.

He pulled her strongly against his chest, silently hating the fact that his armor kept them apart.

-I know. I don't like it either.

She raised her face from his chest and looked at him almost pleadingly.

-Come with me to Val Royaux? I know you don't like...- He didn't let her finish.

-Of course I will. Wherever you need me.

oOo

-I gave the order. The crime is mine. I am Thom Rainier.

Time stopped after those words, everyone around her either gasping or keeping an unnerving silence. They had arrived with just two hours to spare, but no matter how many agents Leliana put to work, or the amount of taverns and inns they visited, there was no sign of Blackwall anywhere. And when the time came and he stepped over the gallows and confessed his crimes, Evey's soul fell to her feet.

She had yelled his name and somehow it had reached him beyond the general voices after the guard leading the execution announced him as a Grey Warden. His eyes had settled on her, and she had seen the pain and guilt reflected in them even before he denied that very same title. Afterwards, when all was said and done and the guards were releasing Mornay to take him into custody, the man formally known to her as Blackwall refused to look at her, and even flinched when he heard her trying to clear a path through the crowd to reach him.

As the people closed in front of her, she thought of yelling again, calling for him in one last attempt to make him turn, but then she realized she didn't know _what_ to call him. Blackwall was no more, never had been, and "Thom" or "Rainier" was a name that, at least for now, sounded wrong even inside her head. She never knew this Rainier, and if she was honest with herself, she didn't know if she would be able to meet him, or even if she wanted to, now.

Sighing, she turned toward the others.

-Go get Cullen and Leliana. Tell them I need them here.

-Where are you going?- Dorian's voice sounded uncharacteristically serious. It was evident that Blackwall's revelation had affected him as well.

-I'm going to meet Thom Rainier, apparently.

And so, she did.

Finding out where they had taken him had been easy. The guard in the gallows had not only told her where they had taken the prisoner, but also added that many people in Orlais were eager to see him hang. Then, with a perverse smile on his lips that warned her where the man stood concerning Rainier's execution, he had told her she should hurry if she wanted to say goodbye.

Her name opened the doors of the jail as quickly as the guards opened her path to the basement where they had taken him. But there, facing the stairwell leading to the cells, Evey faltered.

She was no stranger to treason, to deceit, and even if both concepts would have been foreign to her before the Inquisition, she had seen enough machinations in the year since she had been part of it that by now she thought herself immune to it. Not that she witnessed them inside their organization. Putting aside Leliana and her network of spies, the Inquisition was a straightforward movement. Rarely did things turn devious beyond what was acceptable. They speculated, yes, and even she had been eager to collect information during her stay in Halamshiral to use it to their advantage. She was also willing to admit all of that was necessary not only there, but in _any_ political affair. But it was one thing to attack someone using their same weapons, and another thing entirely to wield deceit against someone that tried to confront you with nothing but honesty.

And in between all the schemes and stratagems, she knew there was a particular group she could always count on: Her friends. Those who the rest of the Inquisition had come to call her "inner circle." It was why she had urged The Iron Bull to save the Chargers, the reason she had not stilled Solas' hand when he had sought revenge against the mages that twisted the Spirit of Wisdom, why she would always try to think of the best way to shield Cole from the obscener aspects of the real world. It was the motivation behind spending an afternoon listening to Sera talk about her past in a surprisingly emotional moment, or the purpose of taking Dorian to speak with his estranged father. The justification to risk herself and other's lives to hunt a dangerous snowy wyvern for Vivienne, or doing something similar after Bianca betrayed Varric's trust, or when Cassandra found out her brethren had created the rite of Tranquility and wielded it against innocents. It was the reason she traipsed all over Thedas looking for the missing Wardens… why she had believed and supported the same man that was now sitting before her in a cell, the mask of his name ripped off and reality itself forcing them to face each other on the opposite sides of cold bars, the chasm opened by his lie represented in the iron that now kept them apart.

When he spoke, his voice was as dead as his spirit, and as wounded as Evelyn's trust.

-I didn't take Blackwall's life. I traded his death.- He was still looking at the floor, resting his weight over his elbows on his leggings, defeated. -He wanted me for the Wardens, but there was an ambush. Darkspawn. He was killed.- Up until now, he had been methodic in his tone, relating the events almost coldly, but that quickly changed. -I took his name to stop the world from losing a good man. But a good man, the man _he_ was, wouldn't have let another die in his place.- There was an edge of sadness and reverence in his voice.

Then, silence. One so deep and hollow that Evey knew only she could be the one to break it. If it were up to him, he would remain there, silent, lost in the memory of the man he had pretended to be.

The man he would never be.

She walked to the cell, standing as close to the bars as she was able, and she saw how he flinched where he sat, as if her mere presence would pain him, as his pained her.

-I called you a friend. I trusted you. You lied.

Those were not questions, they were not things to analyze or justify. They were hard, cold truths, ones that she needed to voice, that he needed to hear. It was the reality they were living, one where he had gone from someone she thought she knew to a complete stranger.

He was under no illusions that she would forgive him. He wasn't even sure he wanted to hope otherwise. He certainly didn't deserve it, but to hear it from her lips, to notice how her voice failed on the last word, broke his heart as well as hers.

He owed her the truth and the strength to keep a straight face and hope she could hate him enough to walk out of there with the determination to let him rot in this cell, as he deserved. And yet, despite how he wanted that, he couldn't find the will to lie to her about his reasons.

-You thought I was Blackwall. I didn't want to tell you otherwise.- He could have left it there, or told her he had done it purely out of selfish interest, to keep his head over his neck. But before the idea of one last lie, one that would help her overcome the fact that someone she trusted had lied to her, one that this time was meant to help someone besides himself could form in his mind, he found himself speaking again. -As Blackwall, I was something. I had a purpose. I could make amends.

He dared to look at her and saw her frowning, her jaw tight and her eyes reflecting the pain he had inflicted. He didn't want her there. He didn't wish to see what betraying her trust looked like, and that need to drive her away was reflected in his tone, his voice harsher than he expected.

-Why are you here?

She wanted to tell him that she was there for him, to help him and to let him know he was not alone. That's why she had come, after all. Instead, she found herself answering with something completely different.

-That depends on what you say.

Rainier stood up, his body turning toward the back of the cell. For a second, she thought he was going to walk away from her, as far as his confinement allowed him to, but then he turned.

-Don't you understand?- He shook his head, closing the distance between them in two short steps, and raised his eyes again, losing his composure in the process. -I gave the order to _kill_ Lord Callier!- His hands landed on the bars in front of him, and he wrung them as tightly as he wanted to wring his own neck now, strangling until no air was left to keep him alive. -His entourage,- he looked down briefly, only to lift his eyes to her again, the weight of his crime reflecting in his eyes, -and I lied to my men about what they were doing!- He shook the bars once more at the mention of his men, letting his head fall afterwards, unable to stand her pained look another second.

He retreated a step and bent low as he shook his head, his hands gripping the bars as if they were the only means to keep himself standing.

-When it came to light, I ran,- he emphasized the last words, shaking the bars again. Once more, he looked at her and connected with her, as if her eyes were just another punishment he was imposing on himself. -Those men, _my_ men, paid for my treason while I was pretending to be a better man.

His voice reverberated off the walls, the sound of his own confession coming back to him to sink him further into despair until he found the endless well of hatred toward the man he could no longer hide behind Blackwall's name. And when confronted with that reality, Evey did what he had known she would do, what every decent and sensible person would do, and he felt himself falter even further. She walked back with a look that he could only interpret as horror, his own disgust for Thom Rainier, for himself, clouding his mind from reading her eyes in any other way.

Between the wave of defeat he felt as he watched her walk away from him, he felt his last thread of hope breaking, and he hated himself for even holding to that until then.

It was done. She had seen him for who he truly was, and now he could finally give free reign to his thoughts for they certainly reflected her own by then.

- _This_ is what I am!- he bit with contempt, leaning his forehead against the bar and feeling his knees give way and his body slide down just as he thought her respect from him had, falling deep into the void along with his assessment of himself. -A murderer, a traitor... a _monster_.

The silence that followed stretched so long that he thought she had left him, his mind too busy condemning himself to even listen to her steps grow distant. But then her voice cut the silence in half, her words wounding him more than her daggers ever could.

-Would a monster have given himself up?

He didn't answer. He couldn't answer. All strength had abandoned him, and even if he'd had some left, her words, almost kind when they should have been filled with derision, would have knocked all energy out of him.

He heard her taking two careful steps toward him, but didn't dare to look up.

-Somewhere along the line, you stopped pretending.

A few seconds later, the sounds of her boots walking away marked the heavy beating of his heart. He knew that tone, he had heard it countless times while she sat in judgment or stood in front of the Wardens at Adamant. She was not done with him, she had not given up yet, and although that should have given him hope and lifted his spirit, the man only sunk further into the Void he knew he deserved.

As she climbed the stairs, Evey didn't even bother to look at the guards, barely mumbling her thanks, desperate to get out of there as quickly as possible. She was not leaving Black... Rainier, she had to remind herself it was Rainier now, in there, but for now she needed time to think.

Focused on leaving the prison, she didn't notice Cullen until she was almost out, his voice stopping her from dashing out the door.

-I have Leliana's report on Thom Rainier.

When she turned to look at him, he had to clench his hands to stop himself from reaching her and holding her tightly against him in front of the Orlesian guards. She looked miserable, her brow constantly frowning, her eyes glossy from unshed tears and her own hands closed in fists at her sides as if she was trying to stop herself from crying purely by sheer force of will. When he stood in front of her, she sighed heavily, taking the report from him with what tried and failed to be a reassuring smile.

For the next minute, she tried to read the report in her hand, but her mind kept straying back to Blackwall. Him, climbing the gallows, revealing his true identity, announcing his crimes and submitting to the guards when they violently pulled him out of the market and into the prison. The people around them calling him all sorts of nasty things, none of which reflected the man she had met a year ago.

Pressing the heel of her hand to the bridge of her nose, she lowered her head, shaking it in frustration when she noticed that for the third time she had reached the fifth line in the report without actually reading anything beyond, "Thom Rainier, former Captain of the Orlesian Army." Giving up, she raised her hands further into her hair, sighing deeply in preparation for what all this mess would bring.

When her hands left her face and Cullen was finally able to see it again, he noticed that she still had her eyes closed, apparently weighing her options for a couple of seconds before searching his face again.

-Give me the overview,- she said while shaking her head toward the hall between the first cell block and the entrance of the prison, where she had seen a small, vacant room where they could talk more privately.

-Looks like our friend was once a respected Captain in the Orlesian Army.- The way he said "friend" implied that Blackwall had lost the right to that title when it came to Cullen. -Before the civil war, he was turned, persuaded to assassinate one of Celene's biggest supporters.- As he talked, his brow frowned more deeply, his emotions getting the best of him despite his willingness to help her overcome hers. -He led a group of fiercely loyal men on this mission, and told them nothing of it. His men took the fall for him.- There was a hint of sadness behind the anger, the situation the soldiers under Rainier's command endured striking him too close to his own experience under Meredith. -A few lucky ones, like Mornay, managed to escape.

She had almost hoped that the report contradicted Blackwall's words, that in his grief, he had assigned more blame to his actions than what actually belonged to him, painting himself as someone far worse than he had actually been. But apparently, things had been exactly as he had related them. There was something redeemable in the fact that he had not tried to make light of his blame in Callier's assassination, but not enough to make this any easier.

She looked down at the report in her hand and a phrase called her attention. The man who had paid Rainier for a job had been a chevalier, Robert Chapuis, a man who had tried to eliminate one Lord Vincent Callier just to get in the good graces with Gaspard, the man he believed would be the true Emperor. For just the amount of time it took her to read the short debrief about the chevalier, Evelyn felt a ray of hope lighting Blackwall's conundrum. If they could find Chapuis and make him confess...

It would be a miracle, considering the man had allegedly killed himself with poisoned wine. She cursed under her breath, the illusion of a possible solution disappearing as her eyes traveled over the words. Chapuis had been, undoubtedly, another victim of the Great Game. And Gaspard, of course, had denied any involvement.

Orlais just kept getting better and better.

None of that, sadly, exonerated Rainier of the fact that he had accepted coin to kill a man. Perhaps the murder of Lady Callier and her children had been accidental, but that hardly justified him. Rainier's men had acted according to what they thought would save an empire, and even though Evelyn despised the idea of someone murdering innocent children just because they carried a dangerous legacy given to them by name, she couldn't deny that war was just _that_ nasty. Refusing to acknowledge it would only harm herself and the Inquisition.

Resigned, she looked up from the report to where Cullen still awaited her.

-Thank you, Cullen. This is helpful,- she grimaced, thinking of a million reasons why what she'd just said was less than accurate. -Or at least educational.

Seeing the despair written in her eyes and seizing the fact that they were as alone as they could be in Thedas' capital of intrigue, he took the short step separating them and softly caressed her forearm.

-Don't blame yourself. We all made this mistake.

There was little comfort in that, but at least she was not alone facing all this. What was the old saying? "The sorrow of many is a fool's consolation"? Cassandra would scoff if she could hear her train of thought now, for Evey was suddenly finding a new meaning to the phrase "fool's Inquisition" that had helped the Seeker so long ago. After all, Cassandra had been plagued with a sorrow that now, almost as if by some devious and perverse play of the Maker and His ride, was ailing Evelyn as well. The cold and hurtful knowledge that sometimes not even the things held most certain were entirely true, and that one single turn of events could make one taste bitter, disappointing reality.

Cullen allowed her to get lost in her thoughts for a time, caressing her arm until she raised her hand to cover his and he could take hers reassuringly, searching for her eyes as he sighed. He knew that the question which had been plaguing his mind since all of this began needed to be voiced, if anything to stop it from tormenting them further.

-What do we do now?- In a way, it was a rhetorical question, for he knew she was not ready to answer it yet with everything so fresh, but at least it gave him the chance to ease her mind about something that, with any luck, might lift part of the weight from her shoulders. -Black... Rainier has accepted his fate,- he said, hating how she flinched at his mistake, especially because he should have known better than to commit it, - but you don't have to. We have resources. If he's released to us, you may pass judgment yourself.

Evey lowered her eyes to her hand, still entangled with his, and absently turned them sideways to look at how her thumb caressed him. Cullen saw her flinch again, her eyes shut tightly as she spoke.

-If it were up to you, what would happen?

In the past, she had asked for his advice. It was his job to give it after all, and she had always conducted the Inquisition as democratically as she could, asking every one of them their opinions and listening to their reasoning equally. She had assessed their possibilities and made informed decisions, guided by what she thought was the correct move. Her asking for his opinion now, though, was hardly something he could consider new. But the way she' d said it, how she closed her eyes tightly as if trying to shut the world out from around her, how her fingers twitched in his hand as she asked, speaking to her own uncertainty, broke his heart. She had enough dealings with liars and traitors outside the Inquisition to have to face a betrayal within her ranks, especially from one of her friends. Rainier had not actively attacked the Inquisition or her personally, but his dishonesty was going to severely damage the image of their organization and, more importantly, that of the Inquisitor. And that was without even considering Evelyn's personal feelings.

But where Rainier had failed her, he could succeed, and it was with that in mind that he spoke as freely as he was capable of in a place where he knew ears were always sharp and ready to carry news to both allies and enemies.

-What he did to the men under his command was unacceptable.- Once again, the inevitable correlation between Meredith betraying the ideals of the Templar Order to exert her revenge on mages and Rainier using his men to his own personal agenda cut so deeply inside him that his tone unwillingly became more and more bitter and resentful. -He betrayed their trust, betrayed ours.- The idea of doing that to his men made him almost spit the next words. -I despise him for it.- But then his voice softened, the memories of all the good Rainier had done under Blackwall's guise showing him the other side of the coin, one that not Evelyn, nor anyone, should ignore. -And yet, he fought as a Warden. Joined the Inquisition. Gave his blood for our cause. And the moment he shakes off his past, he turns around and owns up to it. Why?

Somewhere along the line, he had stopped giving her his opinion and had begun voicing his own doubts about all this. He had not gone downstairs to face the prisoner. He had feared that by doing, so he would lose sight of his place and question the man on things he thought he had no place asking from his position in the Inquisition. Inquiry and judgment on these matters fell on Evelyn's shoulders, and considering she had nurtured a closer relationship in all the time they had traveled and fought together than he ever would, he thought that stepping in the middle of her and Rainier would do nothing but harm her and the cause.

However, it was one thing to refrain himself from going downstairs to interrogate Rainier, and another to find the will to enclose the most important question inside his frantic mind. Rainier had had all in his favor to just turn his back to his past and keep living the life he had constructed under Blackwall's identity. He had shown in his past that he could be beyond morality, so why face certain death when he had for years been hiding from that fate?

He refused to use the word "laudable" to describe the actions of a man that had ordered the death of an entire family to earn coin, but in a twisted way, it had come to that, something that without a doubt befuddled him.

-Some part of you is impressed by what he did, isn't it?- she asked, raising her eyes and looking more peaceful, as if his opinion had given her some sense of respite.

A part of him wanted to smile at her words. She knew him so well, and even in the face of betrayal within her own circle, she was trying to read his emotions instead of worrying for her own.

-Saving Mornay the way he did took courage. I'll give him that.- He squeezed her hand again, trying to beg her forgiveness for the next thing he had to say. -But I can't tell you what to do.- And softly, almost as a whisper, he added, -I'm sorry.

She sighed, releasing his hand and rubbing her face once more in a vain attempt to shake all of this off her. When she lowered it again, everything was still there waiting for her to act, so she did the only thing she could in that moment.

-Call Leliana and Josephine. Let's go someplace else and explore our options.

She guessed that, at the very least, she could be grateful that all her advisors where at her side.

For good or for ill.

oOo

It had been a grating week.

When Blackwall's true identity had been revealed, Evey thought she had filled her quota of emotional draining moments, but then she had had to stand and watch as Vivienne lost the man she loved. That had been difficult enough, especially considering Madame de Fer had won the sobriquet of The Lady of Iron for a reason, which made her answer to all attempts to comfort her with a cold and distant look. But not even she had been able to hide the utter heartbreak in her voice when she last called Bastien as he exhaled his final breath.

As if that were not enough, Evey had also taken it upon herself to accompany Leliana to the Cloister in Valance, searching for a meaning to Divine Justinia's cryptic message. There, Evey had seen the Nightingale facade fall to reveal a woman beaten down by life and bruised by the weight of the obligations she, and others as the Divine, had placed over her shoulders. It had been somewhat of an epiphany for Leliana, but for Evelyn, it had drained her of the last strength she'd had.

At least she could be grateful that she had made the decision of what to do with Rainier the very same day he had been taken to prison. She doubted she could have stepped out for that task after all that had happened afterwards.

By the time she and Leliana arrived at Val Royaux again, Josephine had already arranged Blackwall's liberation through a special dispensation from the throne. In any other circumstances, when dealing with any other prisoner with less personal connections to all of them, they would have avoided asking a favor from the current rulers of Orlais, at least until they needed something that justified collecting on the debt of honor the crown had acquired with them the night of the ball at Halamshiral. This, of course, was not even close to saving Celene's life and negotiating peace, stopping thusly the War of Lions and securing a better life for the elves in Orlais in the process. Still, deep down Evelyn knew that the rulers would take it as a fair trade, forgetting completely that she had not only prevented Celene's assassination, but also saved the lives of thousands by stopping their dangerous confrontation. Releasing Rainier, no matter how wanted and hated inside their territory or how despicable the nature of his crimes, would never compare with the lives all three of them had squandered in their struggle for power. Sadly, the Game was ruthless, and even though they would make it look like they would be forever grateful for the Inquisition's help, she knew better than to think she could call in as many favors as she wanted. And that was without even considering how many it would truly require to equalize the balance when it came to the debts they had acquired with one another.

Despite all that, no one could have convinced Evelyn that she had not done the right thing, not even Rainier's disapproving glare. When they took him out of the cell and released him into the waiting hands of the soldiers of the Inquisition, his eyes had found hers and she had seen his silent request. He wanted to die. He wanted to face the consequences of his actions like the man he had tried to be, and as he looked at her while the soldiers shackled him, he was begging her to allow him the respite that death would bring him. To die in the hands of a friend was better than to face it surrounded by people eager to see him suffer until his last breath. But even as she held his gaze, tightening her fists at her sides in a vain hope that it would reign in her emotions at seeing her friend escorted as the common criminal he had revealed himself to be, she knew that she would not cave to his desires. Unfortunately for her, that didn't mean Rainier's stoic resignation would not affect her.

As the night fell and they stopped to make camp, the differences between Blackwall and Rainier struck her even harder. Whereas Blackwall had been a companion that sat amicably with all of them to have dinner and chat, Rainier was a prisoner escorted to Skyhold to be judged by his crimes. As the memories of the Warden telling stories and sitting on guard while the others slept filled her mind, the reality of the former captain of the Orlesian army secluded to a tent guarded by a pair of soldiers hit her so hard that she sulkily watched the others eat while she could barely stomach a bite. Where Blackwall had been a friend and a trusted companion, Rainier was a stranger begging to die to quiet the angry voices of his past condemning him for his acts.

The dreadful feeling that she had somehow lost a friend, no matter what she did, followed her through dinner and beyond, making her leave the company of her friends early to chase an elusive sleep that refused to offer her shelter.

Companions retired, soldiers whispered in hushed voices, guard shifts came and went, and she still rolled in bed, trying to ignore her frantic mind.

Eventually, the Fade welcomed her with what should have been merciful hands. Instead, she found herself surrounded by countless memories of too many fights, where Blackwall had guarded her back, opening a path through the same darkness that she now knew he fought inside himself.

As unyielding as the Fade ever was when facing a disturbed mind, she witnessed a plethora of painful images fighting to gain the advantage, culminating with Rainier standing in front of a tombstone in a perfect copy of what they had endured in the Fade. He was there, carefully reading the engraving that announced his biggest fear to everyone who dared read it. Now, the carved word gained new meaning, for Rainier feared nothing but himself, hiding behind an identity that didn't belong to him.

 _Pretending to be a better man._

Rainier's own words reached her, making her sob while she silently watched the man kneeling in front of the grave mound, grabbing the stone in a clenching grip as if he could crush it under the sheer power of his own grief.

Then the image twisted, and another man stepped out of Rainier's body. He was dressed in full Grey Warden regalia and looked exactly as Rainier himself had looked when she had met him: Poised, confident, kind, and forgiving. A man trying to make the world a better place. A man granting others the possibility of atonement under the Grey Warden servitude.

Blackwall stayed there, looking at her with those same compassionate eyes, as if the spirit of the Warden wearing Rainier's body understood the weight that had fallen over her shoulders, and pitied her for it. But then he turned to look back at the former Captain, placing a hand over his back as it shook in a telltale rhythm. While Rainier cried in silent agony, Blackwall turned to look at her one more time before lowering his shaking head in defeat… just as Rainier slit his own throat.

She woke up feeling disoriented, not entirely sure where she was or what had happened. She was shivering, and in a vain hope to combat the cold, she threw on a pair of trousers and closed her arms tightly around her middle over her shirt. She was in a tent, but the cot below her was strange. They _never_ traveled with cots. They used bedrolls, since they were easier to carry. And while she was on that matter, why did she have a tent all to herself?

And then it all came back to her. Ivaline's accusations, Stroud in the Fade, Cullen barging into her room when he realized Gavreau had escaped, Blackwall isolating himself, the worry, the wait, the reality unveiled... _Rainier_. With that name, the image of Blackwall standing behind his twin while the Captain cut his throat came rushing to her mind, hitting her like a punch to the gut that left her feeling as if she were standing at the edge of a precipice, the vertigo pushing her to act.

She ran. She got up without even caring to think where she would go once she was out of her tent and she didn't stop until she crossed another entrance, her destiny clear in her mind even if she hadn't realized it yet.

oOo

-Evey?

Cullen had been awake. Much like her, the events of the last week had left him tossing and turning, wondering about too many things that by now didn't make much sense. Life was filled with "what ifs", and Cullen would be lying if he said he wasn't tortured by a fair share of them. What kept him awake, though, had nothing to do with Rainier or the "what ifs" that revolved around him and his deceit, but rather the very same woman that had just entered his tent.

She looked disheveled and disoriented, as if she had stumbled in there purely by chance, and Cullen briefly wondered if she was awake at all. His doubt didn't last too long, however, for the moment the tent flaps dropped behind her she turned to him, called forward by his voice, and walked toward him as if she had entrusted her soul to him, and now she needed it back for a moment to breathe.

He was still sitting in his cot under the covers, so when she reached him, he moved to let her sit and immediately opened his arms to give her the refuge she was after.

There had been no tears, no sobbing or whimpering. She just buried her face in his chest and held him tightly, silently begging him to give her the strength she needed to face her dear friend in judgment. And for the life of him, Cullen wouldn't have been able to let her go even if he'd wanted to.

So he didn't.

He held her there, in the dead of the night, tracing the contours of her body in the darkness, imagining how his hand would look as he caressed from her lower back to her shoulder blades, freeing her with his touch alone.

Without either of them being the wiser of when exactly they had moved, he found himself cradling her while she sat in his lap, listening to her labored breaths as they eased. The grief that had pressed her lungs and stolen the wind from her chest when she had fled from her tent had slowly disappeared.

-I lost count of how many times he saved my life,- Evey barely whispered against his skin.

Cullen leaned back until he could see her face, his eyes already accustomed to the darkness, allowing him to at least distinguish some of her features. She was frowning while looking to his chest, lost in thought. Softly, he caressed the side of her face, pushing her hair behind her ear and letting her say whatever she needed.

-Remember when I wrote that he broke a couple of ribs in the Emerald Graves?- He nodded to her statement, brushing his thumb over her cheek. -The giant was actually aiming for me. We saw it throw a smuggler twenty feet in the air until he hit a tree, breaking his spine and killing him instantly. And yet, when the beast charged toward me, he didn't even hesitate. If it wasn't for Solas' spell, he would have suffered the same fate as that man, but… he didn't care.- She raised her eyes to him, and Cullen felt a tear moisten his thumb. -I can't just _leave_ him now. I refuse to believe what the Orlesians say about him, but…- Her voice broke as more tears trickled down her face.

Feeling his own heart throb in pain, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead, tucking her head below his chin afterwards, rocking her body back and forth to sooth her.

-I don't know how to judge a friend, Cullen.- she admitted between quiet sobs, holding him tight.

He pulled her back once more and cupped her face with both hands, kissing her softly, his lips caressing hers in an almost chaste peck.

-Whatever you decide, I'll be there for you.- She sighed at that, the air escaping her lips in a ragged release of emotion. When she nodded, he lowered himself down in bed, trying to take her with him. -Come here; you should get some rest.

She tensed and looked to her sides, as if the soldiers outside could see them through the thick tarp. Realizing what she was thinking, Cullen turned her face toward him, determined to do whatever it took to convince her to let him share her burden, if only by holding her while she slept.

-Forget about them.

For a second, she looked at him in doubt. Then, without uttering a single word, she lowered herself and pressed herself against him.

Placing one single kiss on her head, Cullen closed his eyes.

-Forget about all of them,- he whispered.

With her ear over his chest, the rumble of his voice invaded her completely, guiding her kindly into the Fade, his arms still surrounding her and giving her the strength she had felt slipping from her body since they left Skyhold.

So long as he was with her, she could face whatever this world held for her.


	62. Chapter 62

Chapter 62: Do You Need to Ask?

-Take your post, Thom Rainier.

Dorian watched the soldiers unshackle Blackwall... or Rainier, or however he wanted to be called. At first, when he stood in the Summer Bazar and watched as he revealed his true identity, Dorian had felt betrayed. He had never been too close to Blackwall, their relationship more one of tolerance than true friendship. Though, as he once said to him when questioned, stranger things have happened than a friendship between an Altus and a Warden.

Only Blackwall wasn't a Warden, nor Blackwall at all.

And yet he couldn't blame the man. Not after he had dedicated years of his life atoning for his crimes. Dorian himself had things in his past of which he was not proud. Without having to think too hard, he could remember one incident that, just as Rainier's problem, had interfered with one of the few moments of peace Evelyn had when in Skyhold. For Fenris had been right: they had met at one of Danarius' parties, and even if he and the elf had come to terms before he left the fortress for Starkhaven, Dorian was still ashamed of the years he had ignored the reality of his homeland in favor of the comforts his life as an Altus provided. He wanted to think he had never killed an innocent as Rainier had certainly done when his order condemned Callier's wife and children, and that was without even considering if the Lord himself was innocent of anything except choosing a side in Gaspard and Celene's capricious battle for power. But he couldn't deny that turning his eye from the injustices of his home was better than wielding the sword that ended the lives of innocents, or the rituals that twisted the existence of others like Fenris.

Through the Inquisition, and thanks in no small measure to Evelyn's trust in him, Dorian had been able to find both a purpose and the strength to fight the regime in Tevinter once his duty with the Inquisition were ended. He still faced the prejudice toward his homeland from others, of course. Most people, like Mother Giselle, resented him for his nationality and distrusted him, thinking he was a magister in the making, a man that was only pretending to be noble just to betray Evelyn at the first opportunity. And there were _thousands_ who shared those negative views. He could see it smoldering in their eyes, but with time, the weight of their suspicious glances had become unimportant. Evey trusted him, and through her friendship, he had been given a chance to do the right thing.

Now, Rainier had the same chance laid before him.

Imagining this would be difficult for all of them, Evelyn had wanted to empty the Great Hall and to have only the members of the inner circle present to watch, but Josephine had strongly disagreed, telling her that such secrecy would only raise suspicions and feed rumors of favoritism. And so it was that when Thom Rainier was released, he had to walk out of the Great Hall with a plethora of eyes on him. Some were strangers, others friends, but among all the eyes on him, anyone could decipher looks of mercy and anger alike. Yet no matter the feelings behind either, eventually only the nobles who regularly spent their days in the Hall remained.

It was only then that Dorian saw how, after a short talk with Josephine, Evey moved to retire to her rooms. He briefly considered following her. She certainly could use the support if her face and choked voice during the judgment had been any indication, but before he could take a step, Cullen intercepted her.

They talked for a minute or two, and even from the other side of the Hall, Dorian could see the Commander's hand twitching in an effort to stop himself from reaching out for her, Evey shifting her weight from one foot to the other just to avoid stepping closer to him.

Eventually, their talk ended and as they began to walk away from one another, their hands touched in the space between their bodies. It was a simple graze, but it was so filled with meaning that it made Evey visibly shiver.

It was adorable, and unbelievably infuriating.

From what Varric had told him of what happened during their mission in the Shrine, along with what his own eyes had seen just a few mornings before when Dorian saw Evey leaving Cullen's tent, he'd assumed the couple were well beyond stolen caresses and timid glances. But with that carefully restrained display he had just witnessed, he was beginning to doubt it.

-Well, _that_ won't do,- he said under his breath, already concocting a plan while trying to decide where to apply it first.

oOo

-Commander,- Dorian said as he entered Cullen's office, glancing and winking significantly at the messenger as he added a small gesture to make sure his intentions were clear. The woman, her paragons bless her, understood perfectly and walked out as inconspicuously and as fast as her short legs allowed, leaving them both in the privacy Dorian required. Cullen apparently didn't mind the evident dismissal of his soldier too much, though the way he straightened his back showed that he was already wary of Dorian's intentions.

-Lord Dorian,- the Commander replied after a short pause, one of his eyebrows raised both in confusion as to why Dorian referred to him by his title and teasingly, following the mage's whim for now.

-I see you're in a particularly good mood.

Dorian walked slowly toward him as he spoke, admiring the spartan decor of Cullen's office as if this were the first time he had appraised it.

-As good as it can be, considering the current circumstances,- Cullen answered carefully, watching the Tevinter's every move in search of a hint of what was brewing inside the mage's head.

-I beg to differ.- Dorian had finally reached his desk and leaned over it with both hands laid upon it, looking straight to him. -Your eyes seem to be _glowing_ this morning.

All this dancing around the issue was quickly wearing on Cullen's patience, so with a heavy sigh to brace himself for whatever ludicrous idea had led the mage to his office, he decided to tackle the subject directly instead of tiptoeing about, as the man in front of him seemed eager to do.

-Is there something specific you need from me, Dorian?

-Straight to the point then? Good.- Dorian perched himself on the desk with a leg, leaving the other hanging and turning to be able to see Cullen if he wanted to. Instead though, he entertained his eyes with the first report he found, inspecting it blandly. -I was wondering why you're not with our illustrious paramour right now. -Cullen began to raise from his chair, his face morphing into one of concern. Dorian dropped the report, sighing exaggeratingly, and raised his hands, silently asking him to sit again. -Don't worry; nothing happened. At least not in the way you're imagining, but I'd appreciate it if you cleared something up for me.- He made the smallest pause, probably to add more drama. -You _are_ lovers, or have I misread you two?

Cullen had surmised several possibilities for Dorian's visit, and while his relationship with Evey had been among them, the bluntness of the question still took him by surprise. Knowing that each second was being carefully timed, he rushed to answer as best as he could while keeping things vague enough to not disclose his sex life with Evey... or lack of thereof.

-I... I don't see how that is any of your concern.- It could have been expressed better, and certainly could have been worse. He only hoped that Dorian took the stammering of his voice as a result of surprise and not as proof of what was ultimately truth, that he and Evelyn had not yet been quite so intimate.

Of course, hoping for such things when dealing with Dorian was akin to trying to keep a secret from Leliana or The Iron Bull, something that became painfully obvious as the mage shook his head in disappointment.

-And _that_ answers my question.

Cullen was not ready to give up so easily and was determined to at least plant a seed of doubt, so he squared his shoulders and stared at Dorian with his best "Commander face".

-I hardly think it _does_ , and I still don't see the point of this discussion.- Trying to play aloof, he took a report, expecting his indifference would discourage the man.

To wish for that to happen was, naturally, a delusion.

-I've already stated as much: I'm curious as to why you're not upstairs ravishing her as you both so evidently desire.- For once, Dorian looked sincerely interested rather than smug. Apparently, this was something which gave him genuine curiosity, and he hadn't taken a more direct approach in the hopes of making Cullen blush.

-Not that this is any of your business,- Cullen said, raising a pair of reports and tapping them against his desk to align their edges, -but in case you haven't noticed, this isn't the easiest morning for her.- Finally, he raised his eyes and looked at Dorian, a hint of sadness behind them. -She is still dealing with all that happened.

-Look,- Dorian hopped down from the desk and walked toward him, leaning against the mahogany again once he stood at his side,- I might not be an expert on women, but I know Evey, and usually when she pushes you away, those are precisely the moments when she needs you most. I'm honestly surprised you're ignoring this.

Just as Dorian had expected, that last remark hit too close to Cullen's pride, and the Commander raised his eyes to him in exasperation, leaving behind all pretenses.

-You think I don't know that? You think I don't want to go to her?- He made a gesture toward the southern door in the direction of Evelyn's tower.

-I know you do, and I know she does, and that's precisely what I don't understand,- Dorian answered, inspecting his nails. Then he leaned back, dropping his body's weight over his hands behind his back.- Now it's this identity fiasco holding you back, but what was it before?- he shrugged his shoulders.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. Sighing, he let his head rest over his fist.

-We barely have time to be alone. Things like this don't just _happen_.- His voice had dimmed as he spoke until the last words left his mouth barely above a whisper.

-You act as if you just began your relationship last week.

Casting a glance toward the mage, Cullen noticed his friend didn't seem particularly convinced.

-No but...- He dropped his hand in defeat. Then he inhaled deeply before talking, letting the air slip along his words, as if he were tired of giving even these meager explanations. -Have you stopped to consider that she doesn't spend as much time in Skyhold as she does on the road?

-So?- Once again, Dorian shrugged, as if her spending twice as much time outside the keep was not something that should hinder their relationship.

Cullen then looked at him like a tutor forced to repeat himself incessantly in the hopes of piercing a student's thick skull until the information found purchase in his brain.

-Dorian, she is a Lady, the daughter of a Bann. Are you telling me that I should go there and _ravish_ her, as you said, without a care for who she is?

-Yes!- he answered in a condescending tone. -She might be a noble, the Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, and any other title you want to add to the list, but she is also a _woman_. You think she doesn't devote time to daydreaming about it on occasion? That she doesn't fantasize about you?

The images that Cullen's mind suddenly conjured were as enticing as they were untimely, which led him to barely manage a nervous stammer.

-I...

-Oh, this is delightful!- There was the smug grin that characterized Dorian again. -You think she is beyond that!- he added, bending slightly to catch sight of Cullen's blush tinting his cheeks.

-I... don't.

Even in Cullen's ears (now completely red), his words sounded unconvincing. Still, Dorian pitied him enough to inquire further instead of continuing the torture.

-Then what's your excuse Commander?- He gave Cullen a second to think before leaning on his elbows over the desk next to him, effectively attracting his gaze. Then he added, without a single thread of mockery in his voice, -Time is short for all of us, even without the threats we face.

For around half a minute, there existed a deep silence, only Dorian's steps breaking it as he walked away to give Cullen air to breathe and time to think. Eventually, the Commander's voice sounded, reverberating off the stone walls around them, adding to the desperate tone in his voice.

-What if she rejects me? What if you're reading her wrong? If I am?

Dorian tried his best to sound reassuring, recognizing his friend's fear as something that he, himself, might be currently experiencing in his private life... if he were inclined to admit he was emotionally compromised to even acknowledge that fear as real.

-We're not. I'd stake my life on it.

-Would you stake your relationship with Bull on it?

…Ah. So, the rumors had reached the Commander's office. Well, now that the cat was out of the proverbial bag, Dorian had two options: admit his own fears regarding his feelings for that lummox, or punch the cat back into the bag. Naturally, the second option won.

-I beg your pardon?

Sadly, forcing the Commander to lay all his cards on the table about this delicate issue had also made him impervious to Dorian's attempt to feign scandal. Or at least that's what it looked like, considering Cullen answered as if Dorian had just admitted his involvement with Bull. Or maybe he was just so preoccupied with his own situation that he didn't even hear Dorian's answer.

-That's just how I feel,- he raked his scalp with his nails, brushing his hair back and holding his head between his hands. -If I push things, if I try to rush this and I lose her...

He was thinking of the morning Evelyn had pushed him away, even as she drove him to the peaks of his own pleasure. In a way, that rejection still stung, and it frightened him to no end.

Lost in thought, he didn't notice Dorian walk toward him until the mage touched his arm.

-You won't...- he said when Cullen raised his eyes to him. Then his expression softened, and his mouth curled slightly in an amused, resigned smile. -And to answer _your_ question: yes, working on the assumption I even _have_ a relationship with Bull,- he added with a self deprecating tone, only to become serious the next second. -I would bet that love _and_ the love I have for her. Because I know I'd win.

oOo

How in the Maker's name had things strayed so far from his plan?

For once in his life, Cullen had tried to finish work early. He had wanted to see her, maybe not with the intentions Dorian had suggested, but certainly to find out how she was faring, to spend time together after a week that had relegated their relationship to a second plane in favor of their duty.

Yet somehow, he was still, for all intents and purposes, trapped in his office despite his best efforts.

His meeting with Lieutenant Derring had been long, robbing almost four hours from his busy schedule to rearrange patrols, deploy soldiers and workers to quarries and logging stands, send others to their new posts all around Thedas, make sure to organize the resupply of Haven, and even deal with the backlash of Warden Gavreau's short stay in Skyhold. As it happened, when the lieutenant left his office it was well past dinner time and, finding he had lost his appetite between the second and third hour of discussion, he closed his office and went straight to take a bath, relishing the possibility of discarding his armor after a whole day of scalding heat.

As usual, he had been quick and efficient in his bath, for no matter how much he craved to feel clean and refreshed, he desired her touch even more. After his bath, when he could offer her more than just a fatigued man stinking of sweat and metal, he would knock on her door, longing for the kiss he had imagined all day long.

But then he had climbed out of the bath, and as he was carrying his armor and deciding to leave the cumbersome thing in his office before going to her, a runner had stepped into his path and changed his plans completely.

A scholar and a half dozen soldiers had been trapped near the tomb in the canyon of the Hissing Wastes after a severe storm provoked a landslide and closed the ravine completely. Rylen's men had rushed to the location from their post in the Western Approach and were already helping, but the advances were slow and the Knight Captain was asking for Skyhold's help to deploy more men who could help with the rescue mission. The good news was that Rylen had already organized his men to build a system of ropes and pulleys from the materials abandoned in one of the Venatori camps of the Shallow Basin to lower supplies to the Canyon and that Betyar, the merchant's mabari who had also been trapped, was keeping the men's morale high. Still, the work to release them was far from finished and Rylen was hoping Cullen would send more people with the necessary equipment to speed up the process.

And so it happened that Cullen went back to his office in his armor (he would never be seen out of it while on duty) to deliberate on the details to deploy the necessary men as soon as possible. But when the meeting extended for another two hours as Skyhold grew quiet outside his office, he was beginning to fear the day would finish without the chance to steal a moment to share with Evey.

-Rylen's men will monitor the situation,- he said when there was nothing left to say, summarizing the long discussion.

As he spoke, he leaned over with both hands pressed to his desk and looked at the men gathered around him.

To his right, Second Lieutenant Hayes answered on behalf of her men.

-Yes, ser. We'll begin preparations at once.

While she confirmed this, Cullen retrieved the minutes of the meeting from a private, delivering the last of his orders as he signed it.

-In the meantime, we'll send soldiers to...

He raised his eyes to look casually at his soldiers when he noticed Evey.

She was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over her chest and a hand touching her lower lip. And she was looking at him in such a way that her eyes robbed Cullen of all thoughts beyond those of getting his men out as fast as possible. Fighting desperately to find his voice again, he gave the report back to a soldier as he added, his voice faltering on the first word as she smiled,

-…assist with the relief effort.- He gave himself a couple of seconds to admire her in silence, feeling his own smile surface in response to hers. Finally, the evocative look in her eyes spurred him into action. -That will be all.

-Ser!- Second Lieutenant Hayes answered with a salute before turning back and walking out of the office.

Her men followed quietly, breaking the silence only with the sound of their boots and the occasional salute to the Inquisitor.

Cullen tailed the line, determined to shut the door behind them to procure the privacy that their duties had denied them all day long. People would talk, he'd no doubt about that. It was well past midnight, and he was purposely locking his men out of his office while the Inquisitor was still inside. But as he walked toward the door and felt his heart race just by looking at her, the pounding in his ears nearly isolating every sound except that of his own breath, he couldn't care less about gossip. His mind was conjuring all the possibilities that he had tried so dutifully to quiet in the past months and that Dorian had brought back to the fore of his thoughts with just a few words.

He wanted her. He desired her more than anything he had desired in his life. But he also feared her, her reaction, her feelings, how deep they ran and what she wanted from their relationship. He was terrified of losing her, of not being enough, of making the wrong decision and driving her away.

As he closed the door behind his men, he leaned against the heavy door, lowering his face between his arms and letting out a deep sigh.

What he had told Dorian that morning had been the truth: their duty stepped between their relationship too often, making it difficult to know how to proceed, how to make things work while the world outside demanded their attention. There was always an emergency, a lost patrol, an open rift, a village under attack or, in this case, a landslide trapping soldiers.

-There's always something more, isn't there?- he whispered, his face still hidden by his arms, holding the door as if he wanted to keep the world from interrupting them once more.

-Wishing we were somewhere else?

Her carefree voice reached him from his left. She was still in the same position as before, still watching him, still painfully beautiful in the candlelight.

He laughed, briefly looking at her.

-I barely found time to get away before.

Feeling his self control slip with each second he stood beside her, he pushed off from the door and turned to walk toward his desk. He needed to put some distance between them if he wanted to find the courage to say what had been lurking in his mind for months.

-This war won't last forever. When it started I... - He heard her walk behind him and faltered for the shadow of a second. -I hadn't considered much beyond our survival.- He reached his desk and turned to look at her, feeling his heart beating in his throat. -But things are different now.

-What do you mean?

She sounded genuinely confused, and her obliviousness cut deep inside him. He hadn't thought he would have to spell it out for her. Not that he could, not with the three words that had been echoing in his mind for more time than he was willing to admit. But maybe he could say the same thing, without actually having to say it.

-I found myself wondering what would happen after.- He turned, breathing each word as he searched for her eyes. -When this is over, I...- He raised his hand to her cheek, caressing her with just the tip of his fingers and cursing the leather of his gloves that stopped him from feeling her skin. -I won't want to move on... not from you.

At his words, Evelyn's heart began to race in her chest like a wild stallion. His hand slid down her cheek, his lips curved in a smile so tender that could only be shadowed by the hopefulness reflecting in his eyes. Right there, standing in the middle of his office, Evelyn felt so loved that she feared her heart would give in.

She was just about to say something when the spell broke. He lowered his hand in time with his eyes, his gaze focusing on everything and nothing, jumping from one thing to another. Anything but her. When he opened his mouth to speak again, she could feel his hesitation, his fear in the shape of his brow as he frowned.

-But I... I don't know what you...- he stammered as he turned. -That is, if you... Ah...

He leaned over the desk and reached for the first report he could find just to keep himself busy. Each second that ticked by brought on more insecurity, and constricted his throat further until he felt that, even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to utter a single word.

And then her hand slid over his fist as her body cut a path to stand in front of him, perching herself over his desk.

-Cullen, do you need to ask?

She was smiling now, her eyes filled with the same warmth as his.

He returned the smile, carefully closing the distance between them without losing sight of her eyes. He closed his fists firmly at his side, desperate to control himself and not think of the implications of that simple question. He wanted to hold her, to kiss her until nothing else mattered, leaving all reason and caution behind just for once.

But he still _refrained_. He didn't want to startle her, no matter the desire he could see reflected in her eyes.

He grew close, and she rearranged her position over the desk, leaning back almost as if she was expecting him to pin her against the mahogany. And Maker, how he wanted to! He could feel the blood accumulating in his fingers as he tightened his fists, trying to focus on anything beyond his mind screaming for him to take her right there over his desk. It was like a string being pulled to its limits, and he both craved and feared the moment it would snap.

-I supposed not. I...

Completely enthralled by the adoration in his eyes, she didn't notice the empty bottle forgotten over his desk, nor how her hand pushed it over the edge and onto the floor, interrupting him.

She gasped in surprise and looked down from her place at his desk, fearing she had ruined the moment. But when she looked back at him, Cullen was smirking mischievously and shaking his head, amused, his smile so filled with promise that she felt a chill run down her spine, awakening all her senses.

His eyes focused on her just for a moment before he looked to her right and swept away all the items over his desk without so much as sparing a glance as reports, parchments, notepads, inkwells and empty bottles crashed to the stone floor.

And then the string snapped.

As the papers were still in mid fall, floating back and forth on their soft descent to the floor, they did the same. Evelyn scooped backwards, and he climbed his desk until he was crawling over her, following her until she lied on her back, looking at him from below him as he had dreamed countless times, a smile on her lips and a promise in her eyes.

He held most of his weight over his right elbow, that same hand caressing her hair as he pushed a leg between hers, the other one bent at her left, caging her with his body. Then, slowly, careful of his armor and his weight, he lowered himself over her, feeling her warmth reaching him even through the embossed metal, wishing he could rid himself of that infernal barrier to feel her breast pushing against him and her heart beating in tune with his.

This time, she didn't need to guide his hand to her breast, his fingers sliding from her shoulder on their own accord as she raised both hands to cradle his face.

Tentatively, he lowered a bit more of his weight over her, just enough to let her feel him, the hand over her head leaving her hair and closing in a tight fist in a vain attempt to reign in his desires. But when his hip connected with her thigh, he couldn't help but push forward against her leg as his own pressed between hers, eliciting the most amazing moan from her lips a second before his mouth covered hers in a passionate kiss.

She soon joined him in these movements, raising her hip to find his own as his lips explored her neck, desperate to uncover more skin, the tight buttons of her Inquisitor regalia frustrating him almost as much as his breastplate annoyed her. Trying to break through the barrier that kept him from her body, he raised his hand from her breast and pulled at the neck of her uniform to no avail. Putting all his weight over his right elbow, he began to fumble with the buttons, cursing the seamstress that thought a high collar practically welded shut with impossible buttons was a magnificent idea for the Inquisitor's finery.

Just as the first one gave way, she raised her head to his neck, her lips kissing the vein where his pulse fluttered out of control, making him lower his forehead to her right shoulder while he groaned. But just as he, Evey could not get enough of him and, in her frantic search for his skin, trailed kisses up his neck until she reached the lobe of his ear, softly grazing it with her teeth.

That simple act shot a jolt through his body, making him lose grip and lower too much of his weight over her, which caused the edge of his armor to pinch her hipbone.

- _Ouch_.

She had barely talked when he raised himself from over her, his hands outlining the contour of her body, frantically searching for the source of her discomfort.

-Maker, I'm sorry, did I hurt you?

She stopped him, turning his head toward her again with a hand and raising herself with her other arm.

-No, it was just your armor.- One of her hands dropped to his shoulder while the other followed the lines in his breastplate until she found one of the clasps securing it in place, her fingers playing with it briefly before she raised her eyes to find his stare trained on her.

For a handful of seconds, they remained just like that, watching each other in silence, a fire burning in both their eyes as they considered the next step, and what it might bring. Then, slowly, to give her time to stop him, he raised his hand to hers and pushed her fingers aside to unfasten the clasp for himself. Once the strap fell free of the buckle, the others followed quickly, freeing him first of his breastplate and then of all the parts of his armor up to his boots until the side of him that was the Commander of the Inquisition's forces laid in pieces on the floor, only Cullen remaining.

He was now standing in front of her, just one step away from where Evey sat with her legs dangling from the edge of his desk, breathing deeply as she placed one of his pauldrons next to a report that had miraculously escaped Cullen's destruction. He had taken off his arming doublet along with his cloak, so when he stepped between her open legs, he could feel the warmth emanating from her body as perfectly as he felt her hand exploring his chest.

It didn't take long before his own hands raised in kind, but instead of resting over her breast, he kept one on her hip and let the other climb to her neck, where her collar still refused to surrender more than the bare minimum of skin he had unveiled when he'd opened the first button. Slowly, almost reverently, he began to open them one by one, enjoying the sweet torture of her skin puckering at the touch of cool air and the brush of his fingers. When he reached the fourth button, he saw that the silver chain disappeared below the fabric, the outlines of his coin resting between her breasts. Cullen had seen it before; she had showed him the bezel she had procured to keep it safe with her all the time. He had even felt it sliding from her chest the last time they'd slept together. But seeing it now, the chain reflecting the light with each breath she stole into her lungs, the bezel appearing and disappearing with her rapid breathing, made something inside him snap. The hand that had been resting on her hip sneaked to her lower back and pulled her until he could feel every inch of her body pressed against him, while the one that had been unbuttoning her uniform raised to the back of her neck as he kissed her hungrily.

But then his hands were exploring her again, kneading her breast while hers traveled to his back, keeping him as close as she could until he maneuvered one of her legs to wrap around to his lower back, urging her to surround him as they rocked hips together, guided by their desire.

His mouth was free to roam down her neck, to push the fabric with his nose until his lips reached the contour of her breast, making her instinctively tighten her hold on him in response to the friction of their bodies.

The first time she called his name, he didn't hear it, too lost in the sound of her heart pounding against his lips as he kissed every inch of her flesh he could find. The second time, she pushed his shoulders just enough to distract his lust fogged mind to hear her call.

When he raised his head to look at her, she'd focused her eyes somewhere behind him, biting her lip nervously.

He was about to ask what happened until she explained.

-There's something I need to tell you before we... before we get too far.

She was frowning now, and no matter how much he tried to attract her look, she kept her eyes away from him. Her fists held to the fabric of his shirt and her legs dropped from behind his back, making him fear what she might want to say.

-You can tell me anything. You know this.- His words would have sounded more reassuring if he hadn't just panted through them.

Still, she turned with a smile, luckily just as winded.

-It's just that... I mean, in the past I've never...- She sighed with frustration, trying to find the words to tell him whatever was worrying her. -Maker, you'd think this would be easier,- she mumbled after a brief glance at him, holding the mahogany at her sides tightly.

Believing he understood what she was trying to tell him, he tilted her head up by her chin until her eyes found his.

-Evey, have you done this before?

By the way she opened her eyes and blushed furiously, he thought he had his answer, but then she shook her head and chuckled.

-No, I mean, _yes_. I've done _this_...- she grimaced, -and more, but... during those occasions, I never...- Again she stopped in the same moment, her frustration mounting. She hated not being able to just say it directly, but each time she thought about it, the words simply refused to come out of her mouth. -By the end of it, you're supposed to feel... to have a... I mean, I'm told, but I've never quite reached...- She groaned, lowering her head and weighing the possibility of confessing her secret to the floor and bolting through the closest door.

While her blush reached her ears, Cullen's mind was frantically trying to decipher what she could possibly mean, replaying her words inside his head until something made sense.

-Evey.- Still she refused to look at him, but he wouldn't give up, bending his head low to look up at her instead. When at last she raised her head in a deep breath to calm herself, he straightened before her once more, venturing a guess in order to ease her confession.

-Are you trying to tell me you never climaxed before?

For a second, Cullen feared she would cut herself with her own teeth, so he freed her lip with his thumb, looking at her in what he hoped would be a supportive expression. And then she nodded, still frowning as if she was angry at herself.

-Not even by yourself?- he asked tentatively.

-Maker, Cullen! This was hard enough as it is.- She looked at him with a mixture of aggravation and coyness, but before he could ask her forgiveness, she added, -No, not even… like that.

With her confirmation, Cullen's mind went berserk. He had never thought that something like this could stir so much desire in him, but there he was, breathing deeply just to control his own heart that raced desperately in his chest at the prospect of being the first to take her to that glorious limit, to make her experience the peak of her pleasure as many times as she wanted and in as many ways as he could think. And in that moment, with her looking at him with her face flustered from embarrassment and her breathing still ragged from their passion, he could think of a hundred of ways to show her what she had missed.

-I just wanted to let you know before we... so you wouldn't think it's your fault. It's not!- she added vehemently. -It's just me. There's something wrong with me, apparently.

-Who told you that?- He raised her head once again, forcing her to look at him, and the answer reflecting in her eyes broke his heart. If he ever crossed paths with that bastard, he would turn him into a training dummy for the army. -Evey, there's _nothing_ wrong with you.

She shook her head, dismissing his words and gritting her teeth, her grip on the desk tightening to stop herself from tearing up.

Cullen leaned in to kiss her, slowly prying her lips open until she relaxed in his arms.

And as they pulled apart, he caressed her face softly, looking at her with all the love he still wouldn't dare confess.

-Do you trust me?

-With my life,- she answered immediately.

-…Would you trust me with your pleasure?- She blushed and bit her lip once more, making him smile at her nervousness. As he waited for her answer, he leaned to kiss her neck, her jaw, behind her ear… -Let me show you what you can feel… Let me give you this.- It was almost a plea, and when she nodded, he shuddered at the possibilities.

He pulled back and took her hands, kissing them before he walked behind his desk to open a locked drawer. Evey waited, trying in vain to work out what he was doing, but she never managed to see anything until he stood in front of her again.

He seemed nervous and his eyes held a vulnerability that struck her. He had been so secure and confident just a second ago that this hesitation confused her. Before she could think of a reason for this change of atmosphere, though, he lifted his eyes to find hers, taking her hand in his and closing it around a small vial.

-You should take this.

Cullen felt almost guilty when she didn't hesitate, opening the vial and taking it to her lips without asking after the contents. But before the liquid could spill into her mouth, the smell of the potion reached her nostrils, and she lowered the vial, puzzlement dancing over her features.

-Witherstalk?

The surprise in her voice sounded almost accusatory to his ears. Fearing she would think he was being presumptuous, or worse, that he was pushing her into more than she was willing to do (at least that night), he rushed to clarify.

-Nothing has to happen. It's just a precaution to avoid unwanted...- His eyes grew wide, realizing what he had just said. -Not that I wouldn't want a…- He sighed, cursing his poor choice of words, and raised a hand to her cheek, his caress part apology and part a real need he couldn't express through words alone. -I want to take care of you.

She was looking at her hand, which still held the vial in complete silence, and Cullen felt truly as if he had ruined everything. What had he been thinking? She had just confessed something critical for her, something that was clearly not easy to reveal, and there he was not a moment later, making suggestive assumptions on how the night would develop. What if she had planned to stay within the boundaries they had set the last time she had been in his room? What if, even now, she was reconsidering _that_ much? Feeling his heart beat irregularly with fright, he took the vial from her hands, desperate to set things right again.

-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have presumed...

But then her hands stilled his, her eyes still trained somewhere on the floor, her face tinting with a timid tone of red below her tan. And she was smiling, one side of her mouth raising as her teeth stopped the other side from doing the same.

-Evey? -he asked tentatively when she didn't say a word, nor let go of his hand.

At mention of her name, her fingers twitched over his.

-I...- Her throat bobbed as she swallowed and Cullen instinctively did the same just to stop himself from kissing the now noticeable and frantic pulse on her neck. -I've actually been taking it for two weeks.

Cullen felt his heart jump at her confession, his body responding to the implications behind her precaution. She had been sure to be prepared for a moment like this for at least two weeks... Not even repeating that in his mind over and over could make his heart stop racing. Oh, Maker, he wanted to lift her in his arms and take her upstairs to show her the effect that those simple words had on him! But then she was talking, and Cullen had to push his own desires to the back of his mind just to be able to hear her.

-Dorian gave me a box filled with fresh Witherstalk during our last mission. He even enchanted it with preservation runes to stop the herb from drying.

Cullen chuckled at that, gave her a peck on her cheek and went to retrieve yet another thing from his drawer. When he came back, he was holding a twin of the box she had just described, the runes glowing faintly.

She raised her eyes in surprise and looked at him with a silent question.

-He gave me this a day before you left.- He purposely refrained himself from pointing out that Dorian had gotten the idea of giving him the box after he had found him daydreaming of forming a family with her in the future. But there had been enough confessions for now, and one of that caliber certainly didn't belong to this night.

 _One day..._

She took the box from his hands and turned to place it somewhere behind her on his desk. The movement exposed the column of her neck perfectly, the collar of her uniform opening further and revealing the smallest hint of the curve of her breast. That was more than Cullen could handle, and with the wonderful freedom that they had granted each other in the last hour, he leaned closer until his mouth descended on the top of her breastbone. His lips traveled slowly through the exposed skin, his nose pushing the collar just a tad more until he found her clavicle, where he left a single kiss before tracing the line of her neck. By the time he reached her ear, they were breathless, the feel of her skin below his lips and the soft caress they left on their path making them both think of those sensations running through her body, exploring her completely until he noticed goosebumps on her perfect skin from the pleasure he'd stirred within her.

Cullen tried to speak, but the words caught in his mouth, his throat constricting with emotion. His Adam's apple bobbed nervously before he swallowed hard and tried again.

-Do you want to go upstairs?- he whispered, closing his eyes tightly while he hid his face in her hair, the seconds seemingly endless…

…until she answered with a breathy "yes".

He pulled back to look at her, and when his eyes found her, he had to bit his tongue to stop himself from saying those three words weighting on his tongue as she looked at him with half lidded eyes and quickened breaths.

 _I love you_ , he declared in his mind instead, and his eyes reflected those words so perfectly that her heart faltered.

 _I need you_ , his fingers wrote as they intertwined with hers to hold her as she slid down from his desk.

And when he turned and she lost the warmth of his look, her feet followed him to the ladder as her heart answered him with the same unspoken words.

Just like last time, she began to ascend first as he followed closely after, hanging the oil lamp from the nail at the side of the ladder to allow him to use both hands, but still have the light at hand once he reached his dark quarters.

When they had reached the top, he left her briefly to place the lamp over one of the crates in the corner of his room, it's light strong enough to illuminate the bed, but not too intense as to be a nuisance. Instead, his loft was filled with warm, soft light, its glow falling over the bed invitingly.

After making sure the lamp was not at risk of falling and starting a fire, Cullen turned to look at her, inhaling sharply at the way the light danced over her figure. He could feel his heart pounding furiously in his throat when he took her hand and walked her to the foot of his bed, pushing her against his body to kiss her with abandon.

Their lips teased, their mouths opened and their tongues danced, but it was still not enough. Their hands searched for a way inside their clothes, desperate to feel skin instead of fabric. She was the first one to loosen his shirt, their kiss interrupted when he pulled it over his head after she raised it eagerly.

And then time seemed to stop for Evey. She pulled back and looked at him, her eyes roaming over his bare chest greedily, as she hadn't been able to indulge herself all the other times they'd been together. Cullen's breath caught in his throat from the intensity he saw reflected in her eyes, and it only worsened when she leaned to place her lips over his shoulder. He groaned at the feel of her mouth on him, a searing warmth spreading as she explored him with lips and hands, trying to take him completely. His head fell back when her mouth first brushed below his ribs. He felt completely lost to the sensations, his body responding to her every touch, making him dizzy with lust, eager to feel her touch everywhere.

And then she was gone, only her fingers lingering softly, almost shyly at waist height on his left. He lowered his head and watched her, curious as to why she had stopped. She was sitting on his bed, neither aware of when they had turned to make that possible. Her eyes were fixed on one of his recent scars, her fingers touching it lovingly while her face contorted slightly with pain.

It had been her dagger that had marked him there, lingering evidence of her spiral into desperation after Adamant, throwing the weapon randomly and hitting the person she'd wanted to protect above all. She had felt so guilty afterwards, and in order to hide the severity of it to ease her mind, he had neglected the wound, wearing his armor too quickly and allowing it to press into the wound, making it worse. It had healed eventually, but had left a scar as a witness to both his negligence and her suffering.

Before he could say something, anything to draw her mind away from those memories and ease the frown on her brow, she whimpered softly and kissed the skin, making it twitch below her lips with the searing heat of her mouth that unerringly awakened his body. With those sensations dancing over his skin, he failed to stop her when she resumed her path down his abdomen, following the line of his muscles as she explored him completely, slowly going lower until her mouth found the hem of his trousers.

His body was already beyond his control, the response she elicited in him stronger than he had ever felt, arousing him more than he ever thought possible. So when her tongue teasingly dipped below the line of his pants, he felt her touch him where he had dreamed to feel her like this for months. It felt as sinful and as delicious as he had imagined, tempting him to allow her these explorations, to cradle her face with his hands as she opened his trousers and learned his form completely. But as certain as it awakened all those fantasies, the wet brush of her tongue also made him recoil, holding tightly her hands, now on his waist, and taking a step back to stop her from roaming further.

He had promised her, and himself, that he would show her all the pleasure her body could feel, and no matter how alluring the idea of letting her continue was, he was determined to make this night about her.

He was still holding her hands, Evey looking at him almost pleadingly, as if she wanted him to let her go just so she could keep kissing his body, and Andraste preserved him but he felt the pull of temptation. She was like a desire demon in that moment, wearing his control slowly but certainly, and only his desire to see her writhe at his touch allowed him to fight against the urgent need he felt for her.

He kissed the back of her hands without tearing his eyes from hers, letting her see the fire she had lit in them. Then, he let her hands go and took his to the buttons of her uniform, watching as her skin was slowly revealed as he peeled the garment away, his eyes as hungry as he himself felt at the mere idea of exploring her completely until she could do nothing more than fall over the edge of her pleasure.

When the last button was undone and her breast band unclasped, his breath hitched in his throat, his heart stopping even as his hands parted the fabric like exquisite curtains revealing a precious gift. She looked divine, her skin glistening in the lamp's light, marred with scars but perfect in his eyes all the same.

He knelt in front of her, his palms falling over her knees to push them apart so he could bring himself closer. He felt the air catch in her lungs and she lifted her hands to cover herself. But when other women would have protected their breasts from his eyes, she covered her prominent scars, her face falling to the side in shame.

Her skin was a testament of her battles, of every instance from which he had been unable to protect her. There was one jarred mark falling from her left shoulder and ending in a thin line near her breast. Another one that clearly had its origins in a broadsword, pierced through the right side of her ribs, and he shuddered to think how close that must have been to taking her very life. There was a collection of charred dots on the opposite side, dotting her ribs and following their path to her back. Cullen recognized those; he had similar ones all over his left shoulder blade, where a magic fireball had seared him. The last one, which she was now trying to cover with her hand sprawled over her lower belly, was significantly large, peeking through her hand in angry lines that fell below her trousers on the left side.

He placed one of his hands over the one on her belly, her other covering the scar over her shoulder, and slowly pried them away from her skin, leaning over to kiss her below her right ear, where he could still feel the lines of her most recent scar below his lips.

-You are beautiful,- he whispered, and felt how she scoffed bitterly, as if she didn't believe him and took his words as ridicule that he would even utter such a thing after viewing, in her mind, all evidence to the contrary.

Amazed that she would ever consider she was anything but stunning, he drew back until his eyes pinned hers.

-You _are_ ,- he said, letting his eyes roam over her upper body, a noticeable shiver following the line of his spine at how delightful she looked. -You...- He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by what she made him feel, and released a ragged sigh to let some of his desire fly away in the hopes that his measured breath would grant him the self control he so desperately needed. -You have no idea what you do to me.- He kissed her neck, feeling her relax slowly. -To have you here, with me...- His hands began to crawl up her ribs as his lips fell from her neck to her breastbone. -You don't know how many times I have dreamed of you, and yet you are more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.

 _I love you_ , his mind said again, caving to the desire of taking her breast in his mouth and reveling in the unrestrained moan he'd elicited from her lips.

Soon, she was falling back on his bed with a whimper, the feeling of his mouth traveling over her body too much for her to withstand. His hands were constantly making up for what his lips could not, caressing her everywhere possible while he kissed her lower and lower, until he found the hem of her trousers.

He stopped there, keeping his face hidden from her as he touched his forehead to her belly, ragged pants falling from his lips and over her skin as his head rose and fell with her heavy breathing. His eyes were fixed on the spot where her skin met the hem of her pants, his mind trying to reign his self control and placate his desire to give her what he had promised.

She interpreted his silence wrongly, and soon her sad words reached him.

-Wyvern's claws. It breached my armor the day we hunted it for Vivienne,- she admitted, ashamed.

Her hand immediately moved to cover the scars, but Cullen caught the movement from the corner of his eyes and took it before she could reach it. He then kissed the scars thoroughly to show her there was not an inch of her skin that he thought was anything but perfect. He found a twin set on her right side, the scars barely small lines of less than half an inch where the creature had apparently not been able to claw through her armor completely. He kissed her there as well, his tongue trying to sooth the marked flesh as much as her mind.

Slowly, tentatively, he felt her relax, her hand going slack in his and giving him the opportunity to move to the ties of her pants, briefly looking up at her, silently asking permission. The tips of his fingers were sliding below the hem of her trousers even as he waited for her answer, his hands barely able to stop themselves, spurred by the naked desire that shone in her eyes.

When she finally nodded, he lowered his head again to kiss her lower belly as his fingers made quick work of the ties. Soon he was taking off her boots and pushing the fabric down, pulling her trousers along with her smalls in one single movement, stopping to look at her when she was laid bare to him for the first time.

His chest was moving relentlessly now, the ups and downs trying to steal air to a pair of lungs that seemed to never have enough, and that barely functioned while he was in her presence.

Unable to stop himself, he crawled over her, careful not to touch a single inch of her skin while he hovered over her and leaned to kiss her lips softly, following the kiss to her ear where he whispered that she should scoot herself up on the bed, so she could lie completely for him.

As she moved up, he remained still, hovering over her while leaning from time to time to place a soft kiss on her breast, belly, and finally her left thigh as she reached his pillows.

And there he was, looking down at the woman that had filled his every thought from the moment he met her, naked and all his in his bed for the first time. The possibilities overwhelmed him. Cullen knew what he wanted to do. He had known before he asked her to move, but now his mind overflowed with new ideas, with different ways to touch her, to find her sensitive spots and what made her squirm. She was there for him to learn of her, her form his to explore.

He closed his eyes and sighed again, willing his body to calm as his hands began to crawl up her legs, his fingers sprawled to touch as much as he could in their ascending path. He paused briefly when his right hand reached the outer part her left thigh, lowering his head to kiss the scar she had received fighting the dragon in the Western Approach. He shuddered at the memory, how his fear had mixed with the desire he had felt at seeing her with barely any clothes on, to feel her surrounding him with one of her legs, as he had dreamed she would one day while calling his name in ecstasy.

Feeling his heart skip a beat at the notion that the day that had seemed nothing but an impossible dream so long ago had finally come, he resumed his caresses, his hands slowly crawling up her legs while his eyes devoured her every reaction.

She blew out the air in her lungs abruptly but raggedly when he reached up, his hands dipping between her legs to push her thighs open, his thumbs caressing the soft skin there, close to where she needed him, but far enough that soon she felt her head spin with the promise of what was to come.

He took his time, torturing her by getting close to the apex of her legs, only to climb to her waist, outlining the shape of her hipbone as his other hand fell to her knee. Soon she was squirming, feeling the pleasure rise despite him not touching her directly, and she could hardly believe it. He was making her feel better than she ever felt in her life, even counting the times she ventured much further than this, and that was something that she hadn't thought possible, despite how he usually made her feel with only his kiss.

And then, just as she thought she would have to beg him to stop tormenting her, she felt his breath caressing her naked skin and his mouth reaching her.

It was sheer glory. She was whimpering the second his lips touched her, arching her back as much as he allowed her with his hand pressing over her belly, keeping her still. He was driving her crazy, groaning against her most intimate of areas when she began to babble things that were meant to be his name, but were lost between subtle whines and moans.

And just as she felt she couldn't stand another second, his hand joined his lips, and she called for his name as if he was the Maker Himself. He could feel her whimpering, her hand grabbing the sheet for dear life, and he dared to glance up at her only to groan once again when he saw the wonder of the woman he loved in the throes of passion. She answered to his touch so wonderfully that he could hardly believe it. Every caress, every kiss provoking a new and delightful response. And he memorized each of them, using them wisely to lead her where he wanted until he pressed in the right way, kissed her just as she needed, and she called for him in desperation, her hand flying down to push his free arm up, silently begging him to join her up the bed.

Reluctantly, he crawled back up when her grasp became too insistent. He realized she needed to have him there, to see him with her. But even as he granted her that, his hand stayed behind, caressing her in places he had just learned were the spots that made her squirm the most, until finally, slowly, he pushed inside, and she arched her back as she pressed her forehead to his, unable to stop herself anymore.

He was gasping as much as she was, the mere sight of her soaring on the waves of her pleasure almost too much to bear. But she still held to that last thread of sanity, and he realized he needed to push further if he wanted to see her fall over the edge.

Pressing his forehead against hers and sharing their panting breath, he leaned and kissed her once on the lips, guiding her to that unknown territory with his voice.

-Let go,- he whispered.

At his words, Evey's fingers clenched around the forearm of the hand caressing her, not stopping him, but trying to anchor herself as he took her to heights previously unknown. She opened her eyes to frown at him, a tinge of fear behind the desire shining in them.

-I'm here with you… I've got you… _Let go._

And, Maker, how she did. With her head pressed against his pillow next to where his laid, she climbed to the peak, still holding his arm tightly as though she wanted to take him with her.

And she almost did.

Just watching her experience it all for the first time, knowing it was himself who had taken her there, almost made him join her in her pleasure.

It was the most beautiful sight Cullen had ever witnessed: Her shaking in his arms, her face close to his, her eyes trying to focus on him even as they fluttered against her wishes, their breath mixing in the small space between their mouths. Both faltering, both gasping, failing to fill their lungs with enough air to compensate the rushing of their blood. Her mouth trying to form words, any words, but managing only to say the same one over and over. His name like a litany, pouring from her lips in heavy breaths, barely distinguishable between all the other sounds that spurred him further and further, making him bury his free hand in her hair just to control himself.

And then it was over, and as her body laid lax at his side, his hand trailed away from her and over her belly, feeling it rise and fall as she tried to take as much air as possible to her chest.

She was a goddess in his eyes. Laying in his bed, her skin glistening with tiny drops of sweat, her hair damp at its roots and sprawled over his pillow, her cheeks flushed and her chest panting as she tried to calm her racing heart. And it was all because of him.

Unable to withstand that blessed sight any longer, he kissed her passionately, swallowing her whimpers and her ragged breath, making it his as he pushed his body against her side.

In the middle of their kiss, he felt her fingers undoing the ties of his trousers, and he groaned against her lips. Without breaking the kiss, they hurriedly kicked his pants away, leaving him only in his smalls.

She hadn't noticed there was still something keeping them apart, too lost in his kisses to answer to the voice in her head that was trying to tell her she still needed to take another piece of clothing from him. But Cullen knew, and he used that last barrier to keep him grounded as he pushed himself over her, noticing the moment disappointment hit her at the feel of fabric against her hip rather than skin.

He caressed her face, brushing her hair away and looking at her lovingly. Her hip was pressing against his, driving him mad and making his self control falter more than he had anticipated.

He asked even as he rocked his hips against hers, feeling her almost there, almost his, but not quite yet, his mind swirling with thoughts for and against going through with his desires without any further confirmation. Even then, he asked:

-Are you sure you want this?

His voice was the most erotic sound she had ever heard, his winded breathing making the question sound desperate. But it was the knowledge that, even as he desired her so urgently, he was still willing to stop for her, to deny himself that pleasure with only one word from her that undid her.

 _I love you_ , she thought.

-I want you,- she said.

His smallclothes were gone in a second, his desire spurring him on and demanding that he make her his in that instant. But still he forced himself to take it slow. There would be only one first time for them, and even when he had no doubt every time together would be unforgettable, he wanted to etch this moment in his mind, to remember every detail in all its perfection.

And while he unknowingly teased her, kissing her neck and her lips over and over while his hands caressed her breasts and her hip, eventually taking one of her legs and pulling it around his hip, Evey longed to have him after all this time.

She could feel him there, pressing against her, tugging at their restraints. Clenching his jaw and frowning in concentration in the unending seconds, he finally pushed forward, slowly but inexorably answering to both their desires, and losing himself in her as they both moaned in unison at the feeling of finally merged into one.

Once he was lost inside her, he gave them both a moment to calm down. She needed to get used to the intrusion, and he needed to control himself lest he ended this too soon. But she was so perfect around him, so right. She felt like the home he had lost all those years ago, as if all his sorrow and fears had flown out the window. As if by giving herself to him, she had healed all his wounds, granting him the happiness he hadn't known he was missing.

Nothing in all his years had felt like this, and his heart filled with so much love that the feeling overwhelmed him, making him lean to kiss her desperately only to ease the lump he felt in his throat.

She was light and life, warmness and perfection, softness and salvation, ecstasy and glory, and now she was his, as much as he had always been hers.

After a few seconds he moved, slowly and tentatively to test her. Her eyes showed nothing but pleasure, his name spilling from her lips as her hands surrounded him, pushing him against her and releasing him to allow him the movement that was quickly taking them inescapably to their ends.

He was determined to enjoy her for as long as it lasted, to capture every sensation and every gesture on her face deep into mind and heart. Every thrust of her hips against his, every moan and twitch of her body when he found the perfect angle. Every time his name fell from her lips and she found him in an open mouthed kiss to allow them to breathe as they let themselves be carried away by the desire of their bodies.

Then he lifted her, taking her with him as he sat, letting her move over him as he held her closer to him, his hands traveling over her back, desperate to surround her completely. He wanted to feel her impossibly closer than they already were, to make her join him in the moment that was almost upon him, the promise of that pleasure shared urging them to move faster, to lose themselves further into the other.

As he grew closer to that edge, Cullen tried to focus on her, taking her head in his hands and making her look at him. He needed to feel her falling once again, this time while he was within her. To feel all her body convulsing around him, to see her cresting her pleasure once more before he allowed himself the same.

Without even realizing he was speaking, he whispered against her lips.

-Please, Evey, I want to feel you again.- Her legs twitched around him at the sound of his voice, feeling her tighten her arms around him. Cullen kept going, his body already soaring the waves of his own pleasure. -I want to feel you like this.

So she did. She blindly leapt over the edge, this time throwing her head back and taking him with her, Cullen's face hidden in the crook of her neck as his lips whispered silently against her skin, brushing with the movements of the words he had been repeating in his mind all night.

 _I love you._

They fell back on the bed, Cullen trying to keep as much of his weight away from her as possible, but feeling his muscles complain and shake even at that small request. Knowing he couldn't keep himself from falling over her for much longer, he kissed her once before rolling over, taking her with him, not ready to let her go just yet.

None could have known how long they lied in bed in the aftermath, basking in the memories and sensations still lingering in their bodies.

When their breathing calmed, Cullen placed another kiss on her head, now nesting in his shoulder, and got out of bed.

Evey was still too lost in what had happened to open her eyes and find out what had driven him away from her, but even if she would have been able to wonder, his absence was so brief that she barely had time to miss his warmth.

As the bed creaked and gave in under his weight once again, she felt a wet cloth soothing the warmth of her face, leaving a trail of coolness in its path. The hand guiding it fell over her body, cooling her feverish flesh and only leaving her body briefly from time to time to come back renewed. It eventually reached her legs, and cleaned her of the proof of their lovemaking as carefully and as softly as only Cullen's touch could be. The sweetness beneath the gesture warmed her heart, and she opened her eyes lazily to find him watching her with a smile on his lips and so much love in his eyes that, even if she had wanted to, she wouldn't have been able to stop herself from sitting on the bed to kiss him again.

They broke the kiss only to move the wash basin to the floor and extinguish the flame of the lamp. Then Cullen lied at her side, taking her in his arms below the covers, one hand softly caressing her back while her head laid over his arm. His other hand held hers over his stomach, letting themselves be lulled by the sound of their breathing and the pounding of their hearts.

As Evey began to fall asleep in his embrace and her body relaxed against his, Cullen swore to himself that no matter what happened, or whoever tried to come between them, he would never let her go again.

For once, there was nothing else in their minds as they entered the Fade but themselves. No Corypheus, no rifts, no war, only they two and this moment.

For just this night, Thedas could wait.


	63. Chapter 63

Chapter 63: The One Before Me

The morning light slipped in through the dilapidated ceiling, warming Cullen's face as he slept on his back. It had intrigued many over the ages, how the simple caress of a sun's ray could rouse a person from the Fade, a smile on their lips and a sigh of satisfaction. And he might've experienced it much the same way this morning, since there was so much to warm his heart after spending the night with Evey, making love.

Fate, however, had other plans. The same warmth which served to soothe others was now feeding Cullen's nightmare.

He was trapped behind arcane barriers in Kinloch Hold, demons taunting him while he desperately tried to shut out the voices crawling in his head. The sun that was bathing his face in the waking world mimicked the heat from the fiery bars closing on him every time he tried to ignore the creatures' torture. And they were enjoying each time he whimpered in pain, each tear he shed through his suffering, making them laugh more maniacally as they pushed him further into madness.

Then the image switched, and he stood before a desire demon. She walked around him, swaying her bare hips with every step, watching him hungrily while she whispered in his mind. He couldn't make out her words, but he knew she was taunting him, tempting him, trying to lure him into her hands and turn him into another abomination to join those they had created from his companions already.

He ignored her.

Even as her warm breath brushed past his face when she whispered against his lips, he ignored her.

But the demon was cunning, knowing his deepest desires, his strongest longings. And so she turned and took her form… The beautiful, sacred form of the woman he loved, and tried again. She looked at him, and for a second it was her, his Evelyn, his heart, his marvelous lady, smiling at him as she had done so many times. But something wasn't quite right, an edge to her smile that was completely wrong, a spark in her eyes that flashed purple, deforming her pupils into those of the demon, the feline likeness lurking behind Evey's hazel eyes.

Even then, he fought it.

-No...- he said as the demon grew closer. -Leave me.

He spat his words, but the demon leaned closer to him. Her skin morphed again, revealing her true pallor first, and then changing her features to her natural one. One long fingered hand rose in front of his eyes and hovered close to his skin. He was naked now, and the demon licked her lips hungrily at the sight of his body, her fingertips moving closer to his chest, the nails growing before his eyes as if they wanted to reach his skin, their points sharp and ready to slice through him, digging for his heart. She lowered the hand more, tormenting him with the uncertainty of not knowing whether she would be content with psychological torture or if she would instead decide to burn him with her touch. Then, so suddenly that his muscle twitched beneath it, she placed her hand on his skin, right under his chest, pushing against his ribs as if she wanted to bury her claws inside him.

Clenching his teeth but unable to move, he struggled to find his voice again.

-Leave me! -he demanded once more, shoving against his invisible bindings to break free.

And just when her hold on him disappeared, he woke up, gasping for air as he felt the hand on his chest leave him. Only it wasn't the hand of a demon, nor the touch of a corrupted creature.

It was her.

He collapsed on his bed again, his eyes briefly looking at her before he shut them for a moment to breathe, trying to calm his racing mind and accept the blessing that had fallen upon him the instant Evelyn decided he was worthy of her attention.

He was safe. He was with her. He was happy, and it was for her.

Cullen breathed deeply.

-Bad dream?

Her sweet voice reached him from behind the darkness of his closed eyes, washing over him like a balm that calmed his tortured mind and soul.

-They always are.- He opened his eyes to stare up at the broken ceiling, the sun spilling in through the untreated beams. -Without lyrium, they're worse.

He turned his eyes in search of her… and there she was, leaning toward him with a worried look upon her face. He sat on the bed, dropping his weight over a bent elbow and raising his free hand to her face, caressing her cheek as she turned and leaned against his touch.

-I didn't mean to worry you.

Her lips curved into a smile, and as his hand fell from her face, her own rose to find his. She brushed his hair back with the tip of her fingers as the rest of her palm caressed his cheek, looking at him so lovingly that he felt his heart skip a beat at the sight.

-You can let me worry about you a little.- Her hand slid away, only her thumb refusing to leave the coarse touch of his cheek.

He couldn't help but laugh. Just looking at her had that effect on him, filling him with so much joy that his mouth curved in a smile without effort, his heart filled with happiness.

-All right,- he acquiesced.

Evey's smile widened and her eyes went dreamy, as if she was bearing witness to the reason for her existence, and he couldn't help but pray to the Maker that it was the case. She was his, and he yearned to be hers.

-Despite the dreams, is it still a good morning?- she asked in a tone that was a mixture of longing and mischief.

He laughed again, short but meaningful. There was only one way to describe waking up with her at his side after a whole night dedicated to his love for her.

-It's perfect,- he breathed the words.

The hand he had lowered to her back had found its way to her face again, only to fall back again when she began to lean toward him. He closed his eyes and met her halfway, their foreheads touching, inevitably taking them down a path they both couldn't help but walk. One where they needed to feel close, to touch the other if only in the smallest of ways, just to feel the comfort of one another's presence. She moved her head, softly nuzzling her forehead against his and breaking all the barriers that had prevented him from telling her what laid in his heart the night before.

-You are...- he sighed, stopping himself at the last minute from uttering those three little words, fearing it would be too much, too soon. Instead, he said, -I have never felt anything like this.

His breath reached her, caressing her lips and filling her lungs of him. The words slipped out of her mouth without a single care, baring her heart.

-I love you. You know that, right?- she said, opening her eyes and pulling back just a fraction, enough to look at his face.

The words squeezed his heart until it stopped beating for the short second that it took for them to register in his mind. And then it came back to life with more strength than ever, pounding in his chest furiously as if it wanted to leap out of him just to touch the reason behind its elation.

The same words that had caught in his throat for so long, silenced by his treacherous, insecure mind, had spilled from her lips effortlessly, almost gracefully.

It was that easy for her.

And suddenly, it was easy for him too.

-I love you too.

After that, her clothes and her will to fetch them breakfast abandoned her completely.

oOo

It was with that memory, and those of all the moments they shared afterward, that Cullen rode back to Skyhold. Reality had eventually burst their bubble of perfection, reminding them of a duty that knew nothing of personal desires or the sacredness of two people discovering themselves and each other, enjoying their first days as lovers.

This time, she was closer to home. She had gone to the Frostback Basin's camp, where Professor Bram Kenric was waiting for her with the promise of historical discoveries that would benefit both of them. Cullen had his doubts. They had known enough from the First Inquisition to reinstate it successfully, so what need did they have to dig in old ruins to see if they could perhaps find something else? They would hardly find the secret to stop Corypheus buried in ancient grounds, and any knowledge beyond that was not vital to them, especially now that he and Evey had finally taken their relationship to the next step. But then again, likely nothing would have sounded important enough for him to let her go willingly.

Evey had said that she had to travel there anyway. Cullen, however, didn't agree.

After several weeks of trying to crack the cypher in the messages they found at the Shrine of Dumat, more had followed with Morrigan exploring the crossroads to figure out which of all the locations mentioned by Samson was the one they were actually heading to. There had been at least eight of them, and they all mentioned the power of an eluvian like the one that kept Cullen awake at night when he remembered there was potentially an open path to their fortress standing in the middle of Skyhold. A tool that would give Corypheus the ability to cross the Fade in the flesh and either accomplish his dreams of becoming a god or unleash forces that would destroy Thedas. Not that those were exclusive from one another, considering what they knew of the magister.

Just ten days ago, Morrigan had finally come to them with news. The real eluvian was in the Arbor Wilds, and Corypheus was probably already on his way to locate it. There had been a discussion about how to proceed, Josephine proposing to wait for their allies to join them, Leliana wanting to deploy spies, and Cullen calling out her recklessness for not realizing that doing so without his soldiers' protection would cause them to lose half her men. Evey had finally decided that Josephine would call on her allies to join them in the Arbor Wilds, while Leliana would deploy her fastest agents to join them and slow down Corypheus's army until Cullen's soldiers arrived.

And in the meantime, she would investigate whatever had called Professor Kenric's attention.

Cullen had begged her not to, but she had gone nevertheless.

She had chosen Solas, Cole and Blackwall to accompany her. According to the Inquisitor, the mage would give her invaluable insight on the memories of the past from his explorations of the Fade, while the boy could help her interpret any residual pain still lingering in those places. The choice of taking Rainier, though, was a more personal one. Asking him to join her, to guard her back and fight are her side, would not only prove to him that she still trusted him, but would also irrevocably deliver the same message to everyone in the Inquisition. She wanted their men to know that there was room to atone within their organization, and even if she couldn't ignore past crimes as the Wardens did, she was willing to help people improve if there was genuine remorse.

It was a kind gesture, and one that didn't exactly help Cullen. He knew Rainier wouldn't betray her, and he was even willing to admit that the man would protect her viciously, but he still couldn't find it in himself to fully trust the man. He supposed that would change with time, but for now, Rainier's lie was too fresh in his mind to not worry him.

Despite this, or precisely because of the nature of those feelings, which Cullen knew were not exclusively shared by only him within the Inquisition, she remained adamant for taking Rainier with her.

And so it was that, for the better part of those ten days, she had been out there, acting as the link between Skyhold and the spies in the Arbor Wilds, reporting about their advance through the region, yet speaking vaguely of her own discoveries in the Basin. They knew she had been investigating Inquisitor Ameridan's last resting place, but not much else, which only increased Cullen's need to arrive as soon as possible to Skyhold and to her.

He had discovered that she had arrived at the fortress a few hours prior, when a soldier from the mountainside camp informed him that the Inquisitor had passed by around midday on her way to Skyhold. From then on, Cullen had ridden to the summit as quickly as possible, the need to reach her overcoming the logic that stated even if he'd been able to reach Skyhold magically just a few seconds after finding out where she was, it still wouldn't have been fast enough. It was well past midnight when he and his men hit the camp after coming back from Haven, an already ungodly hour to wake her up, which only made the two hours that it took him to reach the fortress even less appropriate.

He couldn't go to her now, but at least he was home. As soon as the sun began to paint her window with the warm colors of the morning, he would be up and waiting for her.

He climbed the ladder to his loft room, holding a lamp and the damp towel he had just used to dry his hair after his shower. The ride to Skyhold had been tiring, and despite his desire to see Evey, he was already yearning to reach his bed. There were few things more pleasurable than to climb to bed on a fresh summer night after a long day of hard work, except perhaps falling into Evelyn's arms instead of a cold, lonely bed. But that was hardly a fair comparison; nothing was better than her. Of that he was certain.

An entire life sharing a room, either with his brother, Branson, or fellow templars, had made Cullen a very quiet man. Even with his boots still on, his steps hardly creaked in the silent night. There were some sounds, naturally; he was no rogue, but he wouldn't have awoken his roommate, if he still had one. That thought only led him to think about how recently he _had_ shared his quarters with someone, and that only made him want her there all the more.

Just as that last wish crossed his mind, he reached his room, holding the lamp up to light his way to a bed that was not as cold and lonely as he had presumed. There, tangled in the sheets, stretched next to one of his pillows and hugging it close to her while burying her face in it, lied the woman that consumed his every waking thought. She looked like a goddess, wearing an oversized shirt, her hair framing her sleeping face like a golden halo, her body only partially covered by his sheet. She had one leg over the pillow she was hugging, while the other had slipped out of the covers, the sheet barely hiding half of her bottom and leaving her other leg exposed. His eyes drank in her figure, enjoying the sight he was lucky enough to witness and reveling at the idea that she wouldn't hide from his hunger, even if she were awake.

Her back rose and fell with the soft rhythm of her breathing, a hypnotic pace that charmed Cullen as if she were a flute and he the snake, her melody calling him, her lullaby calming him and luring him into wanting more. More of her song, more of her taste, her form, her voice. More of her laugh and her sleepy smile. More of her body and her kisses. More of her confessions and reassurances.

More of _her_.

All that time, he simply stood there watching her sleep peacefully and undisturbed, fearful that taking a single step forward would break the illusion, his desires playing tricks on him and making him hallucinate things.

But when he tentatively took the first step, she was still there, and his heart swelled just to think of getting into bed with her.

He left the lamp in its usual place, took his boots off, and walked to his bed, his mind only now wondering why she had come, despite him not being there to receive her. He knew there hadn't been an emergency that might have prompted her to wait for him in his room, and he doubted she was so eager to share her findings in the Basin that she had decided to sleep in his bed in case he arrived back early.

Even though she was lying in the middle of his bed, her body leaned slightly left where one of his pillows was stretched beside her, so with utmost care, he sat next to her, his hand falling on the pillow, only to stop himself from reaching out to touch her.

She was so beautiful, so peaceful without the burden of duty to shadow her face…

His hand twitched in place, his self control almost slipping. He didn't want to disturb her; she had so few moments of peace lately. He was dying to touch her, to kiss her and greet her after so many days away from her. He needed to hold her, to feel her smile against his lips, to tell her he loved her again, to make love to her once more. He knew he needed to rest, though, so he decided he would just go to the other side of the bed and slip in next to her, hoping that by morning, she wouldn't mind that he didn't wake her.

He moved his hand to his knees to push himself up, but in that moment, she sighed in her sleep, her face rubbing against his pillow and one lock of hair falling over her cheek. His resolve broke. Maker, he was a weak man when it came to Evelyn Trevelyan. Not even the lyrium's call used to have as strong an effect on him. He had proven he was able to resist lyrium, but no matter how hard he tried, he knew he would never be able to resist her. And, more importantly, he didn't want to.

He tucked that strand of loose hair behind her ear, the tip of his fingers brushing her face softly, unconsciously tickling her cheek, hoping that might stir her from dreams. It did, and as her beautiful eyes lazily opened, he felt his heart accelerate. He repeated the motion on her cheek, this time all his hand molding to her face, his thumb softly caressing her.

-Hello, sweethe...

She didn't let him finish.

-Cullen!

Her voice was pained, the last part of his name pitching high, as if she were on the verge of tears. He couldn't be sure, however, because the moment her eyes focused on him and his words reached her, she lurched forward and clung to him as if she felt the same fear he had experienced when he was frozen in place and thinking she would disappear if he so much as moved.

Cullen stroked her from her lower back to her shoulder blades, enjoying the feeling of her in his arms. He opened his eyes and looked to his hand moving over the shirt, and his throat constricted.

 _Sweet Maker, that's my shirt._

He had never understood that fixation from other men, for a woman to be wearing their clothes. Certainly, to view them _naked_ was infinitely better. But now, as he embraced her and felt the fabric bunched against his palm, he began to comprehend the beauty of it. He could see the shirt losing itself beyond her backside, probably reaching mid thigh when she was standing. It made him feel overly possessive of her, as if simply by doing that, she had acknowledge how much she missed him, how much she considered herself his. Not even the fact that the fabric hung looser on her than any of her shirts would have done made it any less attractive. It was positively erotic, and it made him hold her even tighter, instinctively gathering her against his chest as if he needed her to feel the pounding of his heart over hers.

Still, it was not enough. He wanted to see her, to finally look deep into the eyes he had missed so much. He ran his fingers over her head then, trying to move her hair out of the way on order to look at her face, but she only tightened her hold around him. He answered in kind, surrounding her with both arms and cradling her against his chest. His heart raced at her contact, elated to find that she had missed him as much as he had missed her, what pushed him to kiss every single inch of her he could reach. From the top of her head, he cleared a path with his lips down to her temples, her forehead, her cheek and finally her mouth, but it was only the last that caused her to react.

The moment he brushed his lips over hers, she whimpered and lost herself in his kiss, holding him tightly.

It was passionate, intense, completely unhinged, but she answered so perfectly to Cullen's need that he didn't realize there was something else behind it as well, a desperation that wasn't there the last time he had kissed her.

When the kiss ended, he was smiling in that particular way he only reserved for her, a smile that she realized had confessed his love months before he could voice his feelings. It was the smile of a man completely enraptured by the woman in front of him, the smile of someone who was contemplating the materialization of his wildest dreams, the purpose of his whole existence. It was a smile that melted her heart and filled her with a warmth that tugged at her chest until she lost the ability to do anything but look at him in the same reverent, lovely way.

Of all the things she wanted to say, of all the things she felt and could have said, she found herself asking the most trivial one.

-When did you come back?

-Less than half an hour ago.- He moved the pillow so it wouldn't lay between them anymore, placing it against the headboard and taking her with him as he leaned down toward it. -But I wouldn't have wasted so much time of I'd known you were here, Evey.

She tucked her head below his chin, almost as if she was trying to hide her face from view in embarrassment. He bent his neck until he could kiss the top of her head, brushing his cheek against it afterwards.

-When we arrived, the guards told me you were away on a mission.

-And you didn't believe them?- he teased, guessing the reason for her visit when she sounded nervous, the idea of her missing him so much that she slipped into his room even when he wasn't there too perfect to ignore.

After a short pause, she lifted herself from her position, kneeling next to him in bed.

-I did, -she said in answer to his question. -It's just that... I missed you.

In her hesitation, Cullen watched as her face morphed from a shy expression to a pained one, and he leaned forward, cradling her head in his hands and kissing her softly on the lips.

-It's alright. I don't mind.- He let his hands drift over her arms. -It was a wonderful surprise.

That only seemed to hurt her more, and after taking her hand and feeling no response, he began to worry there was something else behind her suffering.

-Evey, what is it, love?

The endearment made her flinch, and Cullen's worries increased. That was the first time he had called her such, and that was not the response he had hoped for, nor the one he knew she would have had at any other time. Something had troubled her, frightened her even, and Cullen inexplicably feared she had reconsidered their relationship.

-Did something happen in the Basin?

At first, she didn't answer, her face a mask of suffering that only proved he was right on target.

After a pause that felt like an eternity, wherein Cullen had to clench his teeth to stop himself from urging her into tell him, she spoke.

-We found Inquisitor Ameridan.- Her voice was emotional, as if she were mourning this man she hadn't known, and Cullen felt a tinge of irrational jealousy.

-You found his body? After all this time?

She had never said anything about a body, and logic dictated that she had meant Ameridan's resting place, but there was something in her tone that made him ask, nonetheless.

He thought his question even more absurd when she shook her head, only to realize there was nothing about this that could be considered reasonable when she answered.

-Not his body… _Him_.- She raised her eyes to him, absolutely miserable. -He was… _alive_ Cullen. Trapped in some kind of… magical cage that prevented him from aging, or dying.

There were thousands of questions in his mind, from simpler variations such as "how", "why," and even "what?" to more complex ones that he was not entirely certain he wanted answered. To even _imagine_ that someone could wield enough power to detach himself from the passage of time was something he instinctively rejected, its implications too dangerous to consider.

Without having to ask, she told him everything. The true race of Inquisitor Ameridan; his faith in both the Maker and the elvhen pantheon; his friendship with Kordillus Drakon; the fact that the Chantry hid not only his true identity and beliefs, but also the fact that it had been a mage, of all people, who had founded the Seekers of Truth. The mission Emperor Drakon had bestowed upon the old Inquisition, the similarities between Ameridan's friends and her own inner circle. How the Inquisitor traveled in the company of a spirit who advised him and offered him true friendship. How his friends had succumbed to their mission. The plans of the original Hakkonites to bind their god to a High Dragon and release it in Orlais, how the former Inquisitor had stopped them, sacrificing himself in the process, and how they had stopped the new Jaws of Hakkon from transferring the god to another vessel by killing the dragon and preventing them from finishing what their predecessors had begun. But it wasn't until she mentioned Telana and her fateful end that he began to understand her sorrow.

-He begged her not to look for him, but she didn't listen… She died trying to reach him through dreams...- She swallowed hard, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. -I found her spirit. It was still there, after all this time… _waiting_ for him…

-I'm sorry.

He said it, and he meant it. His voice had come out harsh, the sound fighting to escape the tight confines of his throat after his mind remembered that she might very well share Ameridan's fate. He had no doubt that, in that case, he would share Telana's fate. Even without magic, he would never stop looking for her. If she perished...

-He asked about her, and I couldn't lie. I saw his pain. He knew she wouldn't give up on him. From the moment he left her, he knew what she would do. He prayed to be mistaken, but deep down he knew that mission would take her life if he didn't come back.- She cut off his train of thought, calling his attention when she tightened her grip on his forearms. -I can't be like him. The Inquisition took _everything_ from them. I can't do that.- She was shaking her head, but her eyes never left him, the tears spilling down her cheeks uncontrollably. -If Thedas demands your life, I won't be able to give them that. Not you. That's not a price I'd ever be willing to pay.- She cupped his face with her hands and looked at him with frightening determination. -I would let this world burn before I allow that to happen.

He should have argued, should have told her that he was no one of importance, that if Thedas fell, they would both go with it. He should have asked her to take those words back, but he couldn't. How _could_ he, when he felt the same? The mere idea of her walking into danger haunted his every waking thought, pushing him into endless nightmares that curdled his blood.

They both knew her words weren't exactly accurate. _Couldn't_ be accurate. His life couldn't be a priority. The only reason hers was critical was because she carried the anchor that would help them close the breach. In the face of complete annihilation, his life meant nothing, and yet for her, it was everything. Still, he understood where her feelings had come from. He felt it too, each and every day.

He was no better than Telana, Cullen knew. Perhaps he wouldn't have died on that island, but he would certainly have perished looking for her nonetheless. Without the power to reach through the Fade, he would have wandered the Basin endlessly. He would have clawed the gates of the fortress until either famine or a Hakkonite's arrow ended his life. He would have fought them just to reach her, to have a chance to save her, to fight at her side.

But if he were Ameridan, he would have done the same as well. Maybe, if the Maker had granted him enough wisdom, he would have trusted Evey's care to a dear friend who would have stopped her from following him. But that was where the differences ended. In Ameridan's place, he too would have willingly stepped inside that magical prison, even with all the eerie implications that held for him after what happened at Kinloch Hold.

For Evelyn, he would have walked in happily, knowing he was giving her a chance to live by sacrificing himself. He would have drawn strength from that peace of mind, allowing him to stand guard for eight hundred years, hoping and praying that she would live a good life in his absence.

But what truly frightened him, what made his heart ache in his chest and his tears fall unbidden, was that her eyes told him she would have done the same. She wouldn't have lived a life without him. They were both Ameridan as much as they were Telana.

And, oh, how that terrified him.

He should have done any number of things, said even more, but he found that he could only take her in his arms and kiss her passionately, his tears spilling down until they were lost in her lips just as he was tasting hers.

When they finally pulled back, she was sitting astride of him, their need to be close too great to allow space between them.

As always, her presence was intoxicating, but even more was her declaration, the fear of losing one another reflected in their eyes, the knowledge that an unfortunate turn of events could end the joy they had found in each other's arms as easily as it had brought them together. And even then, it was the next thing she said that struck him harder than anything else.

-Ameridan told me I should take moments of happiness where I find them. That the world will take the rest.- Once again, she held his face, making sure he was looking at her and nothing else, even when that effort was going to waste, considering he couldn't have looked anywhere else. - _You_ are my happiness, Cullen. The world can take the rest.

After that, he made love to her.

How could he not after what she had said? How could he stand to spend the night without exploring her body, without kissing every inch of her skin, showering her with his love? How could he resist the urge to whisper his own promises while they climbed the peak of their pleasure? How could he stop himself from imagining a life where they were no longer bound by duty and uncertainty of what the future would bring? How could he restrain himself from showing her what her words did to him? What her presence had always done to him? There was no force in this world that could stop him from pretending there was no war outside these walls, that they were not in danger of treading the same path the First Inquisitor and his lover had walked.

Maker, no.

The world had not taken that much from them, yet.


	64. Chapter 64

**Author's note: Sorry for the delay. I'm going to be honest with you. I remembered this morning when I woke up and then I forgot. Here it is!**

 **oOo**

Chapter 64: Behind Closed Doors

-I've chosen a buckle over with turquoise. Five feathers.

The blatantly obvious voice of a masked Orlesian nobleman resounded in the main hall one hour after lunch.

-You're so bold. I have selected simple shades of rose. And a shocking parasol,- answered a Fereldan highborn woman with equal disregard for propriety or subtlety.

-Careful, you'll distract from the happy couple,- came the amused intervention of the man.

-Impossible.

-I do agree. But was if...?- There was distress in the man's voice, as if he were considering something completely unthinkable.

-No date before the seasons and fashions change? Disaster,- guessed the woman almost scandalized.

-Agreed.

Then a furtive look to their sides and a giggle, followed by the last humiliating statement before the Commander of the Inquisition forces walked past them, the click of his boots too strong for him to be oblivious of the nobles' clear disregard for the privacy of his personal life.

-Hush, there are ears everywhere.

Their staged embarrassment at the idea of being caught gossiping didn't fool him, nor would it have tricked anyone.

It wasn't as if this attitude was new, but it had certainly ramped up to noticeable heights after he had moved in with Evelyn a couple of days ago.

After the night she returned from the Basin, Ameridan's tragic fate and the striking parallels with what could be her ultimate destiny still thundering inside her, neither of them had wanted to spend a single night more than necessary away from each other.

Cullen always had a deep understanding of the risks her position placed her in, and with each passing day and every step forward their relationship took, he feared the idea more and more. After she came to him, distraught at potentially being destined to suffer the same fate as the First Inquisitor, Thedas demanding the same sacrifice of her, those feelings had deepened inside Cullen to the point where he didn't care about anything else besides making her feel protected and loved.

At first, he feared she would regret it. The nobles (the Orlesians, in particular) had gone from just a few carefully planned innuendos to a more direct approach in their attempts to meddle in their private lives. As for him, it was easy enough to avoid them, since he was a Commander and nothing more. Nobody expected him to be the most socially engaging person, and he could even toy with the line between aloof and almost rude more freely. She was the Inquisitor, and as such there was need for her to interact with all walks of life, most of which, sadly, where meddling bastards with no concept of either propriety or personal space. Over the course of the two days since the move, Cullen found himself more times than not walking toward her with clenching fists, inventing any excuse he could think of to relieve her from their presence after a noble had stepped too close to her, had brushed her arm in a provoking manner, or had even leaned dangerously near her lips. He knew that they were attempting to goad them into revealing intimate details about their relationship, or at least acknowledge it out loud by playing innocent and ingratiating themselves to her. Perhaps they were wishing to get something more from them besides, "I'm afraid I'm already taken," but that didn't ease his temper when someone dared to behave toward her the same way they had toward him during the Winter Palace ball.

It was an exhausting routine that seemingly hounded them everywhere, except within the personal paradise they had created in what Cullen had naturally begun to consider "their room."

He had surprised himself at how easily they had fallen into their new life together. Both had shared rooms with companions before, he in the templars and she in the Chantry, but to share with a partner was another thing entirely. There was something incredibly comforting about ending a hard day's work knowing that she would be waiting for him in the tower room, that no matter how trying his day had been, she'd still be there for him once it was over, exhausted but refusing to sleep without him. It had been that very feeling that had kept him going the last couple of days when he was forced to stay awake until well into the night, mapping out the journey to the Arbor Wilds the next morning. Every night, though, when he opened the door to their room and climbed the stairs, she had been there with a smile on her lips, dressed in her robe, waiting until he was there to get into bed together.

Not that they always made it to bed right away. Since the night they made love for the first time, they'd hardly been able to keep their hands off each other whenever they were alone. It was like an addiction, a feeling that overwhelmed him more than he ever thought possible, a need that surpassed those he once felt for lyrium, or indeed anything else he had experienced in life. Not even in his teenage years, when he was discovering the pleasures of sex, he had desired a woman as much as he constantly desired her.

Maybe that was one of the reasons he had exerted himself so much, to have everything ready ahead of time. He wanted at least half a day free to share with her before they had to travel to the Arbor Wilds the next morning with an army to lead and a battle to fight. Nevertheless, after lunch she had locked herself inside Josephine's office to talk about the allies they would find once they reached the Arbor Wilds and the correct way to address and thank them for their help toward their cause. All things that Cullen found more than unnecessary, considering Evelyn already knew how to behave among dignitaries and had a perfect understanding of the Game, none of which was reason enough to convince the ambassador to allow her to skip the meeting.

With no possibility of stealing Evey away, he went to the tavern one last time before retiring to their room to wait for her. For the last two days, he had placed several notices around the keep and the mountainside camp to inform the families of their soldiers that he would personally take care to deliver any letter they might want to send to their loved ones. It wasn't an uncommon practice, but people usually had no choice but to send them via conventional messengers, who charged more than most families could afford. It was the first time Cullen would provide this service for them, and even if he knew it was a task considered beneath a Commander or even a military force like the Inquisition, he also knew how a few words could change everything. Morale was a fickle thing, and a motivated soldier was one that fought fiercely to see another day. Nothing could make people fight harder than the notion that someone who loved them was waiting for them in their home.

It was yet another thing Evey had taught him.

Before her, Cullen thought morale depended upon the unity of the forces, the companionship of his brothers in arms, and the motivation his commanding officer would instill with some carefully chosen words. His family was important to him, but his love for them resided in a place too intimate to mix with his daily life. They would always hold a place in his heart, and he would always work to make the world better for them, but they were, ultimately, part of a life he had left behind the morning he crossed Lake Calenhad for Kinloch Hold to train as a templar. He loved them, but no matter what, after the fight was over, nothing but the barracks and his empty cot had waited for him at the end of the day.

Evey had changed that.

Even before they became a couple, she had sent him small letters urging him to get well, to trust in himself and in his strength to overcome his lyrium addiction. Before he had kissed her on the battlements, she had written that she desired to be there for him and help him find the confidence the damned blue substance had taken from him. Then after they confessed their feelings, she had made it almost a tradition to send at least a couple of lines to ease his worries about her safety whenever she left the keep.

Cullen had treasured each of those words, and he knew she had cherished his as well. Now, all the soldiers stationed in the Arbor Wilds had the possibility to remember what they had left behind, what they were fighting for, be they the desperate pleas of a mother wanting to see her child safe and home with her, the innocent and lovely greetings of small children learning their ways with words, the desire of a lover in need of reaching for the heart that made theirs beat, or the hopeful dreams of a spouse wishing for the safe return of their other half. Anything was important. Anything could make the difference between victory and defeat.

He was aware that some of those letters would be the last contact these people ever had with their loved ones, and even as that certainty weighed on him more and more with each loss, he hoped the fallen soldiers would walk to the Maker's side with their hearts at ease after feeling the people who gave their lives meaning close to them once last time.

He had even felt tempted to write something himself. One for his siblings, to be delivered in case he fell in battle, giving them the chance to know about his death firsthand instead of through gossip, since Mia always scolded that it was the only available source to know what had happened to him. And another one for Evey, telling her of the life he had wanted to live with her, the life he would have tried to give her if he had only been given the chance to stay by her side.

Somehow, it had been impossible.

The battle in the Arbor Wilds could very well be their last, both because they might die out there, or because Corypheus might face them in one last stand until either of them emerged victorious. But for reasons beyond his comprehension, he didn't feel that dreadful sense of foreboding when faced with the notion that the next morning they'd be riding to face Corypheus' army. Perhaps it was the lack of lyrium that numbed his senses, but something inside him said that this was not their final confrontation, and that writing those letters would do nothing but test his luck, making the possibility of his demise even more pressing than what it would have been otherwise.

So, he gathered hundreds of letters, tied them all in dozens of bundles, and loaded them with the basic supplies. Thousands of loving words mixing together one last time, his fingers twitching below the letters as if the words within them were eager to reach the eyes of their receivers. Hundreds of different handwritings coexisting until he entrusted them to their owners, none of which would be Cullen's own family, nor the woman that entered the room as he reflected on those thoughts.

-Cullen.

Maker! The way his name sounded on her lips always make him shiver. When they were in public, it held a tinge of promise that ran down his back and settled in his stomach, making it churn with need. When they were alone, it was that promise come true, more a breath that a word, as if just pronouncing it filled her with serenity as it made him unable to contain the desire to hold her. It was a sensation he thought he'll never get tired of, especially now that he didn't have to fight the need to get to her and kiss her to his heart's content.

They still held each other when the kiss ended, Evey seizing the opportunity to run her hands freely thought the fabric of his shirt now that they were alone and he was out of his armor.

-How come you're here?

It was too early for him, usually arriving several hours after dinner, tired and craving the refuge of her arms until he felt invigorated by her kisses, leaving all exhaustion behind in favor of making love to her until both lied spend but sated in their bed.

-You _did_ ask me to move in with you, remember? - he said, raising a mischievous eyebrow before plunging down to kiss her neck avidly.

She chuckled, leaning her neck in the opposite way of his lips to give him better access.

-I know,- she added, pushing him off her until she could see him. -But you've been so late these last few days.

There was no recrimination in her eyes, only expectation, the hope of having him with her the rest of the day at odds with the certainty she had gained in the last few days that he would tell her he needed to go back to his work.

He smiled and caressed her cheek lovingly.

-Not today.

-You're sure?- She was still hesitant, hardly believing they had a chance like this.

He brushed her hair, slowly stroking her hair backwards as his thumb caressed her face.

-The caravans are ready, the equipment's loaded, the orders given, and the men released from their duties for the day,- he nodded, her smile making his grow as well. -I'm certain.

She closed her eyes in a sigh, as if she was slowly taking in the meaning behind his words. It was late afternoon, the sun still one hour away from hiding behind the highest peaks, and yet they were both free to do whatever they wanted.

An idea came to her mind, but before she could say anything, Cullen beat her to it, leaning to brush his lips against her shoulder while he whispered, making his way up her ear.

-I drew you a bath.

He felt her shiver, though he couldn't tell if it was for his voice tickling her ear or for the upcoming pleasure of enjoying a warm bath now that the days had began to grow progressively colder in preparation for the upcoming autumn months.

He knew how much she loved to enjoy a bath before going to bed, the feeling of the sheets sliding over her clean body afterwards making her sigh before falling into the welcome hands of the Fade while he held her in the real world.

They had yet to experience a bath together. His duties had kept him away from her so long into the night since he moved to her rooms that her hair usually had long since dried once she greeted him. As for him, he had kept his usual routine of taking a quick shower before going to bed, not wanting to make her wait for him for that as well.

The notion that this was the first night they actually had a chance to share that moment together had not gone unnoticed to him. In fact, her in his arms sighing contently while he trailed her skin with one of the expensive sponges he knew Josephine had gifted her had been one of the fantasies he had first fought with all his might, only to embrace it once she made her feelings known, enjoying the idea of one day being able to make it a reality. Today could be that day, but even though he couldn't ignore the stirrings in his body as the familiar fantasy displayed in his mind, it had not been the reason to wait for her with such luxury.

The next day, they would ride to a battle that promised to throw even more weight over her shoulders, more lives taken by the Inquisition's cause that Cullen knew she would hold herself responsible for the loses. There was even the possibility they would face the very same enemy that had begun this terrible debacle, and each moment of happiness and peace he could give her on this last night before pulling her into chaos was one he was willing to provide, even if that meant leaving his hopeful dreams behind.

But Evey, as it turned out, had either also indulged in fantasies of them together in a bathtub, or had quickly come up with the idea after he whispered those words in her ear, for before even opening her eyes, she blindly searched for his hand, taking it in hers and raising it to her heart.

-Will you join me?

When she opened her eyes and looked at him pleadingly, Cullen's breath stuck in his throat.

He nodded, looking at her with eyes that displayed his desire openly, making her turn while holding his hand to lead him to the screen behind which laid the tub before she decided to skip the bath altogether. She lowered her gaze to the floor as she walked, and if he hadn't known better, he would have thought she was afraid of tripping over some invisible obstacle.

The reality was more simple, and immensely more adorable.

She was embarrassed.

He couldn't see her face from his position, but Cullen knew she was blushing and couldn't help but love her more for it. Even after spending several nights awake making love, exploring each other and learning each other's bodies and desires, she still blushed with every heated look, with every confession and stolen kiss. It was one of his favorite things, how she could still shiver under his touch even as he traversed the same spots that he knew made her twitch and moan. How, despite the months and the many times she had stolen him from his office, she could still let out a ragged sigh as she tried to regain her breath when he kissed her. How her hands twitched when he let the tip of his fingers follow the line of her spine until his hand settled in her lower back, pushing her against him.

He would always be fascinated at how receptive she was to his touch, how she would express her love in the most adorable, small ways, like wearing the coin that now laid below her clothes, or slipping into his room to sleep in his bed just because she missed him, or wearing his shirt to feel he was at her side, even when he was absent. Or simply looking at him with naked adoration as she gathered the courage to take yet another step forward into their intimacy.

The copper tub was big enough for both of them, but the water still sloshed over the brim when she got inside and leaned against his chest.

Since the first kiss, they had managed to surprise each other with the intensity of the sensations they awakened in one another. A simple kiss could make them tremble, a brush of fingers filled them with anticipation, the warmth of skin against skin took them to heights that crested abruptly when they lost themselves in each other's arms.

But this was something that exceeded Cullen's expectations as much as that first night together.

Her skin was slippery and impossibly soft, his fingers running over every inch of flesh he could find, trying his best to enjoy the sensations that crawled all over his body from below his hands, lighting it with a fire that burned deep and only for her. He had dreamed of this for such a long time, the fantasy only intensifying after the night he watched her bathe in the creek near camp. And now she was there in his arms, head leaning back over his shoulder as he traced her skin with a soapy sponge, eventually losing it and letting it float away from them just to lather her skin with his hands, caressing her as he would later explore her with his lips.

When she did the same for him and ended trailing wicked fingers below his stomach, he couldn't help but take her in his arms, turn her, and pull her back against him again. He seized her surprise to slide a hand up her thigh, reaching the place he knew so well by now, making her moan as his other hand climbed up over her stomach to hold her breast, slowly but surely taking her to heights that belonged only to him, that he exclusively had taken her.

The bath ran cold between kisses, whimpers and pleasures crested. They got out eventually, drying each other's bodies with the same sensuality that had taken over them from the start, eventually skipping the task altogether and falling over a towel on their bed, desperate to lose themselves in their pleasure as the hours ticked by.

Cullen fell first, Evey following closely and straddling his legs while her hands slid over his thighs and up his chest, breaking the tiny water drops still lingering over his skin until her lips replaced her fingers, making him drop his head back at the feeling of her mouth tracing the curves of his muscles.

She had wanted to do this since their first night, but he had been so focused on her own pleasure that he had denied her. Afterwards, he had been so enthralled by the sight of her soaring the waves of her bliss that he had taken charge of their love making, reveling in the sound of his name as her pleasure burst at his caresses. And she had loved every minute of it, surrendering to him and allowing him to guide her in what had felt like completely new experiences for both, only because they were sharing them with each other.

But now she wanted to see him unravel after her ministrations, to experience once again what it felt to see him reach his pleasure by her touch, so taking his hands in hers, she began to trace kisses down his abdomen until she felt him tighten his hold as he realized what she was about to do.

It had been glorious. The sight of this man completely at her mercy, chanting her name as something sacred, holding her hands tightly and pushing his head back against the pillows only to raise it the next second, his stare becoming glossy when she raised her eyes to find his, burning for her. The feeling of his muscles tensing and twitching as she pushed him over the edge, as she took him to the same pleasure he had introduced to her, became almost too much for her. His hand reached for her afterwards, urging her up so he could hold her tightly against him, barely managing a few faltering loving words before his lips found hers in a searing kiss. It was bliss in and of itself, a pleasure beyond what thrummed through her body just by witnessing his own ecstasy.

The trust, the love, the utter and complete devotion shinning in his eyes and reflecting in hers was something that struck both of them so intensely that made their hearts falter.

They fell asleep, exhausted and tangled in their bed after making love tenderly, whispering loving words and promises between ragged breaths. Later in the night, they would find each other again, the nightmares and fears replaced by kisses and caresses. A neverending cycle in which the morning finally found them, bringing them back to reality, and to the battle lying ahead.

oOo

The Emerald Graves had been heartbreakingly beautiful, the anchor making it easier for her to connect with the spirits representing its tragic story, the sadness reaching her as if she were one of the elvhen of old.

The Frostback Basin had made her breath catch in her chest when she first saw it. Though charged with dangers and its own amount of tragedy, it still made her heart skip a beat when the sun began to rise, illuminating the Inquisition's hanging camps.

The Arbor Wilds was different. It held a mysterious beauty, an unyielding and untamed aura that loomed over them with the weight of the legends.

It almost seemed like a sacrilege to enter its borders, to settle their camp inside that territory and disturb its slumber, but war was indifferent and insensitive to beauty. War destroyed, devastated in its wake, and cared nothing for the wonders of the world. And no matter how wrong it felt, the Inquisition had to be as cold and inflexible as the war in that moment.

This time, Cullen had made sure all Inquisition holdings remained with enough men not only to keep the outposts running, but also to make sure they were able to make a stand should they be attacked while their forces had marched. Nevertheless, with the Inquisition's significant growth since those days, each settlement had sent even more men than the last time without putting risk to the safety of their holds.

Still, if that help weren't available, Cullen's men only would have been able to fill in for the ones staying in their respective posts. The forces settled in Skyhold and the mountainside camp had reached a staggering number of five hundred men, even after Cullen relocated soldiers to reinforce the rest of their holds.

In consequence, the fortress had seemed empty after three hundred of those men had left to the Arbor Wilds two weeks prior, and the feeling only got worse when the Inquisitor marched to join them, leaving only a hundred men behind to protect Skyhold in case of attack.

On the first day of riding, Emprise du Lion's forces had joined Cullen's soldiers with fifty of Baron Edouard Desjardin's men led by Michel de Chevin, bringing the total to one hundred fifty men that had entered the Arbor Wilds on the very same morning along with the Inquisitor, her inner circle, and her advisors.

When they arrived, the Arbor Wilds already harbored not only the bulk of the Inquisition forces with three hundred men, but also part of Celene and Gaspard's soldiers, which totaled one hundred between the two. Those were joined by another one hundred twenty men from the West under Rylen's command, and another forty of the rest of Baron Edouard Desjardin's contribution.

From the Storm Coast, the Blades of Hessarian had joined a small group of Inquisition soldiers once again, adding one hundred ten souls to the total stationed in the Wilds before their arrival. The Hinterlands contributed with yet again seventy-five of Sister Anais' men, joining fifty of the original Vale's irregulars, the latest recruits staying in the area to patrol and take care of their seniors' tasks. Another hundred seventy-five came from Caer Bronach in Crestwood. Amund and Svarah Sun Hair's men blended in fairly decently with one another, making it difficult for anyone unfamiliar with them to distinguish who belonged to which tribe between the one hundred five Avvar stationed there.

In total, their army would count with one thousand two hundred twenty-five skilled men.

If only their numbers wouldn't be decreasing with each passing day.

Upon arrival, the Captain in charge had informed them that their forces were barely holding ground. Corypheus had arrived a few days ahead of them, and his presence had bolstered the morale of the Red Templars, inspiring them to fight harder than ever in their master's name. That morning, Inquisition scouts had seen the magister himself traveling toward an elven ruin to the north, but the Captain had not taken any actions since she had received notice of the Inquisitor's impending arrival. She had hoped the reinforcements of fresh men as well as the presence of the Herald and their Commander would make opening a path through Corypheus' army an easier task.

Cullen had expected to find a better situation, hoping that the increasing number of soldiers from the last week had helped in their mission, but when the sounds of wounded and rushing healers greeted them, he knew there would be no time for finesse.

Josephine had hoped for him and the Inquisitor to greet their allies according to their status, but when she barely suggested that he took the time to do so, he had grimaced and turned, stopping only to order one of his lieutenants to see that the private letters to the soldiers were delivered as soon as possible before walking straight to the main officers' tent to plan their strategy. And to be fair, what in Andraste's name was the Empress Celene doing in a battlefield? And clad in that giant contraption she insisted on calling a gown? He could understand and even appreciate Gaspard's input, as well as the effect his commanding presence had on the chevaliers in their ranks, but he was a military man, one that could aid the cause. Celene could do nothing but be a nuisance, putting herself and Orlais in danger by even daring to show her face there. He had already been forced to relegate half a dozen men just to guard her, and in their situation, that was a dangerous misuse of resources.

Planning their attack took almost all of five hours, and that was without counting the time Cullen stayed awake, going through all the details by himself. In consequence, he hardly slept at all that night, despite the luring presence of Evey in his tent.

That had been another problem by itself.

When the report of the situation made Cullen and Evey jump from their saddles to begin their plan of attack, Josephine had taken it upon herself to organize the layout of their accommodations. What in other situations had been a simple and almost inconsequential task, had turned into a carefully planned organization that showcased the hierarchy inside and outside the Inquisition with the meticulousness and attention to detail that characterized the Antivan.

Thus, an impressive furnished pavilion had been assigned to the Inquisitor. It was so big and imposing that it rivaled the Empress', subtly hinting to the superiority of the Herald now that Celene was out of her territory. It had been pitched in the exact middle of camp, where it would be guarded against any attack. Josephine then surrounded it in an open V formation by the advisors and inner circle's tents in order of seniority inside the Inquisition.

Their accommodations were less grand than Evey's, but still massive in comparison with the ones of the common soldiers. The Inquisitor's pavilion was the only one completely furnished, though Josephine resented Cullen's stubbornness in forbidding her to bring the finest tables and chairs to complete the lavish look she considered worthy of the Herald's status.

But in her compulsion to preserve propriety and follow social protocol, Josephine had failed to notice that if Cullen and Evey had given up on keeping appearances in Skyhold, nothing would stop them from sharing a tent while outside the fortress.

In fact, the moment Cullen stepped outside the (up until Josephine's intervention) largest pavilion in camp, where he and Evey had been planning tactics with the rest of the officers, and saw the display Josephine had orchestrated in their absence, he was quick to inform the Ambassador that tents were just as easy to take down as to set up, and that according to his calculations, she had pitched one more than necessary. And that was without even mentioning the fact that Dorian and Bull would probably follow their example, albeit more surreptitiously if the Altus had any say in the matter.

Even more so, Josephine had provided the Inquisitor, her inner circle and advisors, and the highest ranks of officers with cots in contrast with the simple bedrolls the rest of the army could afford. The only logical exception had been Bull, whose weight and size made it difficult to find a cot that wouldn't give under him.

The only problem was that cots were individual, and Cullen had not spent a whole hour arguing with Josephine to now lie next to Evey without being able to hold her in his arms. So by nightfall, the infirmary had two more cots available, and on the floor of their tent laid a pile of covers that had played the part of bedrolls where he held Evey safely in his arms for the short hours he allowed himself to sleep during that night.

oOo

The next morning found him leading a group to the front lines to push Corypheus' forces back. Evey had been delayed by Morrigan, who had said something about the ruins being a temple of elvhen gods. For once, he couldn't be more grateful for the witch. If nothing else, at least it gave the healer the chance to approach Evey about the shortage of elfroot, something that Cullen knew would allow him to take a platoon of men to the third blockade to try to stop the Red Templars from entering the Temple without her accompanying him.

He knew they were not containing all the attacks. In fact, at that time he was sure enough templars had sneaked past their lines to reach the camp they had cleaned a few hours prior, but the number of enemies pouring in almost constantly had made it impossible to send a small squad to check if he was right in that assumption.

Not that he needed it. Sounds of battle carried in the distance every time they could stop to take a breath after defeating the last wave, and the idea of Evey getting caught in the middle of it, where he could not protect her, chilled his blood. What if one of the screams he had heard in the last hour since the attacks became nearly uncontainable had been her last?

A slash of a Red Lyrium blade cut the air next to his ear, forcing him to push those thoughts aside to deal with the Red Templar horror trying to take his life.

His sword flew gracefully, as if it were he and not his attacker who had a weapon in place of his arm. If it weren't for the fact that he couldn't afford to take the time to reflect on how perfect the blade felt in his grasp, he would have been surprised.

This sword was never meant for him. Forged specifically to be the symbol of the Inquisition, it had been made to fit only one hand in particular. But that hand favored twin blades instead, and the weapon had been reduced to a ceremonial accessory after they presented it to Evelyn as a symbol of her rank.

However, since the night before, he had been entrusted with it in representation not only of the organization he served, but of the woman he loved.

-I want you to have it,- she had simply said while giving it to him. She had also explained she had wanted to do so for a long time, but she had assumed he wouldn't use it because she thought it a two-handed sword and she knew he preferred to use a shield in combination with his blade. Only when she took it to Harrit to modify it had she discovered it was actually a bastard sword, and could be wielded either by two hands or one.

But even as the fact that she wanted him to have something so easily recognizable as a sign of the Inquisitor herself moved him to no end, it was the small fabric attached to the hilt that called his attention the most.

-It's a favor,- she had explained, blushing. -There's a tradition in the Free Marches that when a woman reaches the correct age to be courted, she should carry a favor with her to give to the man of her choosing.- She untied the handkerchief from around the dragon's body on the hilt and opened it over the blade, brushing her fingers over the design. -My mother made me embroider this one when I began to receive suitors.- She fiddled with the fabric, trying to distract herself from the way his piercing look made her heart jump in her throat. -I was in the Chantry back then, and I thought it was stupid to carry on with the tradition, but...

She stopped when she felt his fingers brushing her cheek.

-Are you giving it to me?

There was surprise in his tone. Even after all that had happened between them, after moving in together and all but announcing their relationship to everyone with a pair of eyes or ears that heeded to gossip, this still made his heart soar.

He had known of similar traditions among Fereldans, and according to his templar companions, he had unknowingly ignored similar favors casually thrown into his path at least a couple of times, his younger self too engrossed in his duty and his social awkwardness to realize what was happening. But the truth was that he had never cared to be on the receiving end of such romantic endearments.

He should be used to the fact that Evelyn changed everything by now.

Since that moment, he had kept it with him always. If he concentrated on it, he could feel the little bundle of fabric pressing against his forearm inside his vambrace, its presence as certain and comforting as he hoped his coin was for her.

Even then, as he adjusted his stance to receive the upcoming wave of Red Templars, he touched his arm, pushing the fabric against his skin, begging the Maker to grant him yet another chance to see her again.

His God had never acted so swiftly, for after just a few slashes of his sword, he heard her call his named behind him.

-I'll be fine. Keep going!- he screamed, hoping she would heed his request and keep herself away from the four Red Templar horrors pushing his men and himself back while Corypheus' archers tried to finish them each time they had a clear shot.

Deep down, he had known she wouldn't listen. Even as he prayed for the opposite, he had known she would join them as soon as she could, falling into her battle stance at his side. And he couldn't blame her for that. Despite the fact that each time the Red Lyrium slashed close to her as she charged forward to bury her daggers into an enemy's chest, he knew that were he in her place, he wouldn't have left her, either, no matter the cost of that decision.

With the help of her inner circle and Evelyn opening a rift over their heads, the fight ended quickly. Sadly, the time they had before more Red Templars appeared once the last of the archers was brought down was also coming to an end.

She was tired, her clothes soaked both from the waters of the creek they had crossed and from blood, enemy and friendly alike. It took her longer than normal to catch her second wind, and she left the rift to close itself in favor of running to check on Cullen, but other than that, she looked unharmed.

He had told her to keep going, but how could she? When the mages in the second barricade had told her they had heard Corypheus was ahead, she had raced there, feeling her heart weigh a ton in her chest, the fear of finding Cullen dead too great to ignore to even stop to take a breath before reaching the sounds of battle ahead.

But he had been safe, or at least as safe as he could be with half his men decimated and surrounded by Red Templars. She had acted on instinct, ignoring his request and jumping into battle at his side until she felt the anchor sizzle in her palm, its energy replenished and ready to be released in a fury of magic that would end up turning the balance in their favor, giving them a victory.

But it was a short lived one. The moment she turned to look at him, already preparing a restoration potion to help him close the wound in his temple that drenched his hair with a constant yet small flow of blood, a Red Templar's arrow flew close to Vivienne.

-Go! Get to the Temple! We'll hold them!- Cullen screamed, his voice reaching her along with the sound of his sword unsheathing.

And then his eyes left her, turning to face the new wave of enemies approaching.

In the distance, she saw the mages of the second barricade running to their aid. More would follow, she knew, and still the words almost lodged in her throat when she tried to shout.

-Dorian, Solas, Cassandra, with me!

She didn't even take the time to see if they were following her before running from the battle.

Cullen saw her disappear in the long hallway leading to the Temple, and prayed to Andraste and the Maker to be able to see her walk out of it safe and sound.

But when the explosion sounded, followed closely by a wave of magic so strong that even his dulled templar senses felt it, he feared his gods had abandoned him.

There was a new god in the Arbor Wilds with them, one that made Cullen run toward the Temple in desperation when he saw Corypheus flying over the building, trying to find another way to get inside, his dragon pet following at his heels.

When Cullen was finally able to leave the battle, he ran inside the Temple's foyer, finding much solace in the fact that there were no familiar faces among the bodies scattered on the floor. It was a frail consolation, though.

The doors to the rest of the building had been sealed shut, and there was nothing left for him but to wait, fight, and pray that Evey would come back to him alive.


	65. Chapter 65

**Author's note:** **When I started this story I promised myself I would do my very best to not turn into one of those writers that often take pauses and make readers wait. But back then I also thought this story would have 30 chapters at the most. With time it grew to what it is today and lately life has been making things difficult for me, which made my muse flee in terror (the traitor). She comes back to whisper ideas in my ear only to laugh at my pathetic tries of putting that ideas into paper. What I'm trying to say is that my writing is suffering, the quality of the chapters is getting poorer and I'm not willing to allow those to see the light. So forgive me, but I'm taking another break. The story is almost over (I believe it will have 75 chapters tops) which means I'm less than 10 chapters away from the ending (the very ending, epilogue included) considering I'm currently writing the second part of chapter 66. I can't keep relying on my beta to save my chapters and I really want to see this through without lowering the quality. So I'll write all the chapters and come back to you. Luckily it won't take long but I'm not giving any dates. What I can assure you is that I** _ **will**_ **come back, this story** _ **will**_ **end. Thank you all for your patience and your support. I promise this is the last time and when I come back we'll finish this together.**

 **oOo**

Chapter 65: Atish'all Vir Abelasan

Life in ancient Elvhenan was leisurely. After all, immortals had no need for haste. Things happened at their own pace, and that pace was almost unequivocally sluggish. Banquets lasted for weeks, single battles for months, celebrations for longer than any mortal body could withstand. Even activities that required certain celerity would prolong for endless hours, stretching the experience longer than anything comparable in current times.

Those memories had been almost lost, alive only in dreamers like Solas who delved into the old echoes of the Fade, learning and experiencing those lives as his own to the point were sometimes the pace of ancient Elvhenan seemed more suited for him than what they all had been born into. But no matter how annoying Solas' calm demeanor could be for some members of their group, it was nothing compare to the sentinels they found inside the Temple of Mythal.

The decision of going through the rituals and paying respect to Mythal while the Inquisition's forces still fought outside had been difficult enough. On one hand, she knew that barging into their sanctuary with no regard toward _elvhen_ culture and the goddess they served would only cause more sentinels to attack, adding to the already stressful situation of the troupes. On the other, each second spent on the rituals, simple as they were, meant one more Inquisition soldier that wouldn't make it back home.

One more chance to lose Cullen.

It also meant that the lethargic steps of their guide on the way to Samson were timed in Corypheus' favor, wearing out the Inquisition's army to the point where defeat was a painful possibility. And the reason she heard what she thought were colorful expletives from their guide's mouth each time she would walk ahead of her out of impatience. The woman's voice was as impassive as her concern about anyone outside the Temple, but the looks she gave Evey were more than expressive.

Not everyone in the Temple agreed with Abelas' decision to allow them passage, and this woman was clearly one of them.

In the end, it didn't matter. The temple was a labyrinth in itself, so despite how frustrating their guide was, there was no other option but to follow her. Perhaps if Morrigan hadn't abandoned them, they might have been able to traipse through the Temple without need of a guide. Not that the sentinels would have allowed it, but without the witch, there was nothing else to do but meekly follow the elf.

Until they heard him.

Samson.

He had opened a path through the sentinels' lines as easily as a hot knife through butter. He thought himself unstoppable, and with reason. His men were a force to be reckoned with, but he was even worse.

It wasn't just his armor, but something else. Lyrium sang with his movements, infesting him in a different way from the monsters at his side. Though his eyes only showed a red halo as if irritated, his men's eyes shone like balls of fire, the red lyrium glowing inside them and finding a window in their sight. Whereas the crystals opened their way through the knights' skin, in him it was as though some force had restrained its power, making it flow through his blood and body instead of piercing through it, only his chest, knuckles and forearms vaguely like the abominations standing next to him. He moved with poise, as any templar worth his title would. The arrogance of his stride, the confidence of his words, and even the momentary pity shining in his eyes at mention of Maddox, spoke of a humanity that had been lost in his red brothers long ago.

Evelyn wasn't sure what she had hoped to find. The last time she had seen Samson had been more than ten months ago, and he had been far enough away to barely be recognizable as a human being.

Still, considering how little it had taken Corypheus to turn normal men into Red Lyrium abominations, she had expected Samson to be more crystal than actual human by now. But there he was, standing in front of her as any other would, his skin still pale, his eyes still blue, his mind still filled with pain and hatred for an order that had all but abandoned him.

And yet despite all that, he remained Corypheus' greatest experiment.

The rune had helped. It stripped him of the protection of his armor, causing it to crack and allowing them to glimpse upon the waves of Red Lyrium running through him, fueling his power.

In the end, they had succeeded, but at a terrible cost. Solas was gripping his staff with all his might, as if he would fall to the ground were he to loosen his hold on it. Dorian was covered in sweat, also using his staff to keep the weight off his wounded leg, his hair a mess of blood and gore. Cassandra was shaking her head vigorously, trying to will the world to stop spinning after Samson threw her against the stairs. Evey felt as if she'd been trampled over by stampeding bronto. Her ribs ached, her side bled where the former templar had struck her, and her hand burned as if she had withheld the power just a few minutes ago, the corruption of the red lyrium boiling it until the grip on her daggers faltered, forcing her to sheathe them in favor of letting the anchor's power loose.

They bound Samson once they stood victorious, writing glyphs around him to stop him from recovering and fleeing. He was more valuable to the Inquisition alive than dead. Whether that condition would prevail was yet to be decided.

For now, he would live, and the worth of the information he might provide would determine his future afterwards.

They were distributing health potions and catching their breath when Morrigan flew over their heads, her dark wings flapping urgently to reach the Well. With Samson's men in his way, Abelas had been delayed long enough to allow Morrigan to find her way through the maze of chambers, her shapeshifting giving her advantage over the sentinel's magic and placing her in front of him, cutting off his path to the Well.

Threats were made, accusations thrown from both sides, and in the middle of it all, Evey stood trapped between her conscience and the necessity of despoiling the sacred sanctum to save her people.

Abelas' voice was filled with sadness, an inevitability that couldn't be ignored, and yet he remained strong. Ever the warrior, he faced the possibility of losing all that his people once were with a stoic calmness. It didn't hide his pain, nor the disdain he felt for Morrigan, but rather spoke of his recognition that the time to defend the ways of old had come to an end.

Asking permission was not important. According to him, they couldn't obtain it, anyway. It was a right that was granted, and even though his desire to destroy the People's legacy before the _shemlen_ could take it for themselves was obvious whenever Abelas looked at Morrigan, there was also a resignation when that same look turned to the Inquisitor.

Evelyn had shown respect to Mythal, even at the cost of her soldiers' lives. So he did the same, with his People's legacy as the ultimate price.

Morrigan wanted to drink. She insisted she was the more suited to deal with the knowledge the Well would grant. And with Solas sternly refusing to carry the power of the _Vir'Abelasan_ , and Dorian saying he would not tolerate a Tevinter stealing the last of the _Elvhen's_ legacy, not even if that man was none other than himself, there was only one other option left.

But there was a price, a geas that would bind whomever partook from the Well to the will of Mythal and the priests that guarded her gift. It was a power that could corrupt just as easily as any other when the bearer became hungry for more.

She already carried a similar power, and its price weighed on her shoulders every day. Like the one in front of them, the anchor was _elvhen_ , something that even Abelas confirmed. No one knew if the mark could coexist with the magic of the Well in harmony, or if a mortal could even tolerate Mythal's gift and live to wield it.

Carrying one unknown _elvhen_ magic was already a dangerous risk, but to harbor the power of the Well, the knowledge of an entire race, and expect no consequences besides a promise to a lost elvhen god was delusional.

And yet, she would have taken that risk if there wasn't another option.

But there was. And of all the things the anchor had taught her, how to make the best of lost _elvhen_ magic was not one of them. If Morrigan was willing to pay the price, the Well was hers.

As the Witch walked toward the sacred waters, time stood still.

From the moment they set foot in the temple, the minutes seemed to stretch beyond what their mortal minds could ever comprehend. An overwhelming sense of ages passing as she traipsed through the trials, the blood of her people spilling while the Inquisitor paid her respects to a goddess who she didn't even know could hear them or not, nor if she would given the possibility. It had felt as if she was trapped in Ameridan's magic prison, but knowing there were people out there giving their life for her impassivity.

And yet now, as Morrigan disappeared below the surface, time bent and exploded around them, the waves of the Well cresting over their heads until only a dewy mist remained.

There was little warning afterwards: a black fog rising from around their feet, and electricity cracking below them as if trying to call their attention to an imminent threat… A threat that entered the chamber just a few seconds later.

It had taken Corypheus much to reach the Temple, and now that he had, one look was enough to know that the Well was out of his grasp forever.

He grunted and extended a clawed hand toward them, as though with that simple gesture, he could close the distance between them until his fingers curled over the necks of those who had destroyed his chance to walk the Fade and sit on the throne of the Maker for a second time.

Then he flung his arms downward, as if trying to unleash his frustration. Only that wasn't his intention. The moment his hands reached their lowest point, his body raised from the floor enough to allow him to fly over the railing toward them with enough speed to cover the distance in a disturbingly short amount of time.

Every single step, every bend in the road, this pest had managed to outmaneuver him, starting with the Temple of Sacred Ashes, when she had barged into the chamber and interrupted his ritual, stumbling about like the brutish, inferior animal she was, and playing with things beyond her comprehension.

And now here she was yet again, claiming knowledge that did not belong to her, just as the anchor was never meant to be hers, stealing from a God in the hopes of achieving the delusional goal of thwarting his plans.

He should have killed her in Haven, should have destroyed her on sight and taken back the anchor that never should have been bestowed upon her once her cold, empty carcass was lying at his feet.

But he hadn't. And now, once again, the thorn in his side that was the Inquisitor, this insignificant bug that should be smeared under his boot... this _nothing_... had once again stolen what was rightfully his.

He could see them now, quickly growing as the distance between them closed, running in desperation like ants escaping from the rain. And he _was_ rain. He was tempest and destruction. He was going to be the fire that burned their limbs until they could run no more. He would watch them twitch in agony while he absorbed every single drop of their life's essence until the power they stole from him flowed within his body.

They were scattering, pushing themselves in a vain hope to reach sanctuary. They yelled and tried to widen the distance between them, as if their pathetic attempts could spare them from the wrath of a vengeful God.

 _-Go! To the Eluvian!_

The pretender this festering world insisted on calling the Herald was struggling with the mage, the Tevinter who was a disgrace to his kind, the man who made Corypheus retch just to remember they shared a homeland.

-No! I can't leave the army!- she shouted.

 _Yes. Stay. Face me and die for your men. Stand your ground and perish, the victim of your own foolishness._

He extended his clawed hands, his fingers twitching at the idea of smothering the life from her. He was so close; just one second and all the mage's efforts to save her would be in vain.

Mythal's guardian stopped his assault, delaying him long enough to give the Inquisitor time to flee. It didn't matter. The eluvian was still open, and just another jump was all he needed to bring her back before it closed.

But then the guardian gained on him, crossing the eluvian before him and sealing it behind her.

Corypheus crashed over useless, dead glass, smashing it to pieces under his weight.

oOo

Corypheus' cry of frustration reached the battle outside the Temple, distracting far too many soldiers and Red Templars in what Cullen recognized as a dangerous slip in their training. Nothing should disturb their focus, for one single misstep could spell the difference between life and death, as it did with the Red Templar he himself was battling in that moment. The guard had raised his head toward the Temple, troubled by his master's rage, and that opened a window in his defenses that the Commander quickly seized to end his life.

Fortunately, the shift his attacker had taken was not exclusively his own, for all templars looked up to witness their master fly off from the Temple, enraged by yet another defeat. That, and only that, had kept the Inquisition's soldiers safe from certain death, though not from the reinforcement of their training that Cullen was already planning.

Soon, their enemy was on the run. Those who looked more like human beings and less like sentient lyrium deposits took the precaution of incapacitating their opponents with a strong shield bash or producing a distraction that would divert their attention so they could flee with their lives intact. But they were the few. Most of them just turned and sprinted to the thick forest without even caring if they were stabbed in the back or killed while they tried to escape.

In any other circumstances, Cullen would have given the order to pursue. It wasn't the most honorable one, but when it came to Corypheus, honor only got you and your men killed. But as he looked around, he realized he had asked too much of his soldiers already. They had fought for hours and the men were exhausted, using their weapons and shields as crutches to remain standing as they filled their lungs with air again. That same exhaustion might very well be the reason for their distraction when Corypheus yelled and fled the battlefield.

They needed to rest.

And he needed to find Evey.

He quickly checked the army's state before organizing the parties that would take the wounded to the infirmary, the others sent to recover their fallen companions' bodies.

He was about to entrust Rylen to supervise those tasks when the boom of the Temple's gates opening made them stand on attention.

Some were wary, slowly raising their shields and swords, or knocking arrows in their bows with trembling hands. Others looked up in expectation, waiting to see the Herald walk victoriously toward them, rekindling the flame of hope, and reminding them that the death of their peers had not been in vain. There was a small group that didn't even flinch, their exhaustion too great to be bothered about whether the Inquisitor was coming back or another wave of red templars had returned to resume the battle.

But all were disappointed. Where they were hoping to see blond hair and round ears, they found hoods and elven features.

Abelas headed the group, but all elves moved in sync, their steps confident and almost menacing in their advance through the entry hall toward the forest.

By the time they strode up to the entrance, Cullen and his men were waiting for them, blocking their exit.

The Commander stepped out, his hands raised to his sides and dropping slowly to show his men they should lower their weapons. He didn't want to fight them if such things could be avoided. The sentinels had taken their side against the Red Templars shortly after Evelyn entered the Temple, and he didn't want to be the one breaking what he thought was a precarious and momentary alliance by rushing things out.

-Move.

The word sounded like a threat, Abelas' eyes delivering them with unnerving calmness. And yet, beneath all of it, there was a hint of hope, something that told Cullen that the elvhen Commander, like him, didn't wish for this to devolve into a fight.

-Where's the Inquisitor?- he asked in what he hoped was a neutral tone.

By the way that Abelas' brow raised, his efforts had been in vain. The elf had read his feelings toward Evey as clearly as if he had fallen to his knees and begged the elf to tell him she was safe.

-She has defiled the _Vir'Abelasan_. She is no longer here.

Cullen had no idea what that meant, nor what it implied of Evelyn's safety. The way the elves behind their leader sneered at the first sentence didn't help, either.

- _Move_.

This time the word sounded like an order, a warning and a threat. If Cullen didn't move, his men would pay for it. Abelas was figuratively twisting his arm, and by the look in the elf's eyes, he knew that was the case.

Clenching his jaw, Cullen moved to the side, trying his best to ignore the voice in his head warning him that if Abelas was telling the truth and he let him go, he was giving up hope on finding Evey.

That very same thought filled him with dread, making his hand act on its own power and close around Abelas' forearm, stopping his advance.

The elf looked at him, a murderous glint shining behind the sentinel's golden eyes. But Cullen's were pleading, the pain and despair reflected in them so plain that Abelas almost felt pity for the warrior, who looked strong and poised, and yet begged like a desperate man.

-Please! You must know where she is.

The sentinels in his wake raised their weapons menacingly, forcing Cullen's men to do the same, even after his Commander had specifically told them otherwise.

-Venavis!- Abelas ordered his men, stopping the silent threat.

He could feel their reprobation as certainly as if they were voicing it. But they had all lost enough, and without a purpose to fulfill anymore, their deaths would be meaningless. The Commander was a desperate man, and if Abelas was reading him correctly, it was his love for the _shemlen_ they called the Inquisitor that was making him reckless. Mythal had once embodied that feeling, and there was something pure in the love that shone in this _shemlen's_ eyes. Even if he himself could never feel anything but detachment for the humans, he still had to honor what his goddess represented.

Mythal might be lost to them and their duty ended, but Abelas still couldn't find it in him to ignore her teachings.

-She paid her respects to Mythal, and for that only, I will answer your question.- He looked down to Cullen's hand and the Commander released him, understanding the silent order. -The Inquisitor crossed the Eluvian alive. That is all I will say.

There was no point in insisting. Abelas had endured one outburst, but he would not tolerate another. Of that, Cullen was certain.

So, without another option, he signaled his men to open ranks, allowing the ancient elves to walk away from their lives forever, leaving him with a pit in his stomach and the dread those cryptic words had formed inside him.

Never before had Cullen accomplished his tasks so quickly. In less than an hour, he had the camp completely controlled, guards organized, reports of the army's status in the making, the wounded in their cots being treated, and the fallen set up in grim rows of covered corpses, waiting for their inevitable final rest in this Maker forsaken forest.

There was only one thing left to do, and when Cullen called an urgent meeting with the inner circle, the other advisors, and his generals, he was merely answering to a formality, his mind already set on what was next.

-Captain Rylen, I'm leaving the camp in your hands. You'll escort the men back to Skyhold once the wounded are in shape to travel and you'll report their progress periodically. You'll also make sure our allies have everything necessary to go back to their respective posts.

He was leaning with his fists over the table, all the attendants surrounding him with different versions of the same, confused look.

-Who will I report to, sir?- asked Rylen gingerly, fearing the answer even before the Commander raised his eyes to look at him.

-Me. I'll be leaving for Skyhold in an hour.

That simple declaration provoked an explosion of objections. Everyone wanted to voice their opinion and all of them had decided they should be the first to be heard. The chaos only worsened the now familiar headache Cullen had begun developing the moment Abelas stepped out of the Temple instead of Evey. Taking a deep breath and rubbing his temples didn't help either, so when Cullen began to feel his pulse beneath his fingers, sending throbs of pain around his head, he lowered his hands against the table, slamming his fists and making everyone jump in their places.

-Enough!- he added just to dissuade anyone who still thought it wise to interrupt him. -I'm sorry if I gave you the impression that my decision was up to debate.- His eyes said that he was not, in fact, sorry for anything, except the time they were wasting. -I'm going back to Skyhold, and that's final.

-I understand your worry Commander, but you can't...

-No, Leliana, you don't,- he interrupted the Orlesian spymaster with a finality that almost made her recoil. -You can't understand.

But Leliana had not come this far to be intimidated by Cullen's glare.

-You can't go. I can send spies to...

-Did I stutter? I'm going back to Skyhold in an hour,- Cullen answered menacingly.

Nightingale looked back at him with half lided eyes, her silence not fooling Cullen at all. As any good Orlesian, Leliana was chosing her battles, but had not given up the war. This was far from over for her.

Still, for now, Cullen had accomplished what he wanted, and his answers had apparently been convincing enough to stop everyone else from questioning him.

Looking down at the map in front of him, he began to trace his eyes over the terrain, calculating yet again how long it would take him to reach his destination and giving everyone around him the time to digest his news.

Just when he thought there would be no more objections, a certain voice reached him, along with the sound of the only pair of high heels in camp, except perhaps for those hiding beneath the Empress' infernal gown.

-Your duty is here with the army, Commander,- came Vivienne's sharp comment.

Cullen was losing patience, and he had never had much to spare with the First Enchanter to begin with. Raising his eyes to her slowly, he shot her a deadly look, one that dared her to intervene once again.

-And I'm fulfilling that duty by leaving my men in good hands. I would not have you question me on this, Lady Vivienne.

-Someone ought to,- added the Iron Lady, making Josephine gasp in surprise.

Cullen might have been getting carried away by his emotions, but pushing him in that moment was not wise, and Vivienne should have seen that by now. Nevertheless, that didn't seem to be the case, and Cullen was now more than eager to show her how badly she had chosen the moment to confront him.

He walked toward the mage, towering over her with his height, forcing her to look up at him or forfeit the battle of will by refusing to keep eye contact.

In the short seconds that it took him to answer, everyone held their breaths. Josephine was unable to contain her distress and walked behind the First Enchanter, the irrational thought that Cullen might lose his temper with the mage assaulting her even as she told herself the Commander would never lay hands on a woman.

However, sometimes words hurt even more. Especially when aiming at one's pride.

-And that someone is the Inquisitor. She is the only one with the authority to do so. Don't ever forget that... my Lady.

And with that painful reminder of her position and power within the Inquisition, Cullen walked out of the tent, leaving an incensed Vivienne surrounded by looks of disapproval and amusement in equal amounts.

oOo

He had wanted to go alone. He had planned his whole trip that way, calculating the stops and the supplies he should carry to ensure his survival from the Arbor Wilds to Skyhold. But somehow, he had ended up riding with company.

Cullen had decided to take Evelyn's horse. It was the fastest they had available in camp, and it was trained to be efficient on long journeys. That was why he hoped he would be able to make the travel back to Skyhold in a couple of days if he left behind his armor to not overload the horse. He would stop only when needed, and mostly to give his mount time to rest. He didn't need much, anyway. He was used to spending days without any sleep from his time as a Templar. Lyrium withdrawal had helped keep those abilities honed, making it impossible to get rest while in agony and forcing him to perform to his best during the day despite that.

He wasn't as skilled a rider as Evelyn and he wouldn't know how to sleep on the saddle as it was reported the Inquisitor did when needed, but he was certain that he would live up to these particular circumstances. He had to if he wanted to get to her as quickly as possible.

When he emerged from his tent an hour later, Blackwall was waiting for him next to Evelyn's horse, holding the reins of his own mount. He was carrying his pack with a look of determination in his eyes, and it didn't escape Cullen that he had chosen a Taslin Strider, a mount from Antiva known to be suited for long distances and spirited charges, one that fell only second to Evelyn's own horse.

His purpose was more than evident, but despite that, Cullen didn't want to admit that he had been cornered, and decided to act as if he was not aware of the man's intentions.

-Is there something you need to tell me before I go?- he said casually as he adjusted the Free Marches Ranger's saddlebags.

-Not particularly,- answered Blackwall as he mounted his horse and waited for the Commander to do the same.

Cullen realized he was trying to beat him at his own game, but after what happened with Vivienne, he was not particularly eager to start another discussion, so he simply mounted Evey's horse and began to slowly walk it away from the tents.

When he reached the guards at the edge of the camp, Blackwall was still there, silently riding to his left and slightly behind him as if this had been their plan all along.

The guards acknowledged both men when they rode past them, nodding to the Inquisitor's companion and saluting their Commander before going back to their duties.

It wasn't until his men were out of hearing range that Cullen made his horse turn and face the false Warden.

-What do you think you're doing?

-Escorting you to Skyhold.

Cullen raised an eyebrow, a gesture that told Blackwall what the Commander thought of his answer.

Raising his hands in the air in an appeasing manner, the former Captain of the Orlesian army tried again.

-Poor choice of words, I'm sorry.- Cullen's eyebrow didn't fall, but at least his right hand relaxed its grip on the pommel of the saddle.

-I didn't ask for your help.

-No, you didn't,- Blackwall added, guiding his horse forward until he was eye to eye with the Commander. -But that doesn't mean you shouldn't have.- Before Cullen could argue, he added, -You're traveling alone, without armor, and I'm guessing you didn't plan to stop for more than two hours, three at the most, each night?

Cullen tried to hide how right he was. He had not only planned all that, but much more. He didn't care _how_ he arrived at Skyhold; he only cared how fast he would be able to make the trip. Evey could be anywhere, but Skyhold was the only place Cullen was aware of that held an Eluvian. It was also the most logical choice. With Morrigan there, he hoped Evey had been able to find her way through the Crossroads and to their fortress unharmed. That was probably the reason most of the inner circle had not seemed as worried as Cullen, and precisely the logic behind his decision to travel alone. A companion could be useful, but could also delay him, especially when said companion wasn't driven by the same urge of seeing the Inquisitor again that Cullen had.

He sighed and turned his horse once again to the road ahead.

-I can't forbid you to come, but I warn you: if you delay me in any way, I'm leaving you behind.- He turned his head to look at his imposed companion, catching a solemn nod just in time.

And so it was that they began a quiet, almost taciturn journey back to Skyhold, accompanied only by the sounds of their horses and whatever other creature or event that reached them and took their minds off their inner thoughts.

As promised, they stopped only when necessary and exclusively to give the horses time to rest. Even the change of pace from a constant and vigorous gallop to a spirited stride tugged at Cullen's patience. He wanted to get to Skyhold as soon as possible and every second they wasted, every time they decided to let the horses walk instead of run, it was one more moment they lost precious daylight, forcing them to stop at night in a secluded spot that ended up being too far away from what the Commander had hoped when they left camp.

Cullen had chosen to take the route through the Exalted Plains until they reached Verchiel, then follow the Imperial Highway to Lydes, where they would leave it in favor of the more merciful and unknown roads through Emprise du Lion, avoiding Halamshiral in the process. He knew that taking the Imperial Highway to the Frostback Mountains would be faster, but he was not about to step a foot in the former Capital of the Dales anytime soon. His face was too famous there since the Winter Palace's Ball, and entering the city would have meant dealing with far too many nobles and political shenanigans more suited for Josephine than him. Right now, he needed efficiency and Halamshiral was the last place that could offer him that.

What he hadn't predicted, though, was that the Dales would prove to be quite a challenge in itself.

Far from the machinations and backstabbing that would have waited for them in Halamshiral (especially after Rainier's news had spread all around Orlais), it was the terrain that hindered their passing through the Plains.

Cullen had heard the area, once a grassland region, was now little more than a bitter witness of the havoc the War of Lions had left behind. But he never thought the damage had reached this far away from where the reports indicated the Inquisitor had located the forts of each faction. Wherever he looked, there was nothing but endless wasteland, only the thin line of the horizon showing a shy green to the East from where the lush forests of the Emerald Graves saw them passing, its promise of a richer terrain coming only second to the absolute certainty of a guaranteed slow pace due to the thousands of trees dotting the region. But no matter how tempting the idea of caving to the alluring and lively prospect of the forest was, Cullen still chose the arid but more manageable offerings of the Exalted Plains. Which meant the horses and themselves had to suffer the consequences.

He knew that around thirty miles west, an important river cut through the Plains, feeding both the Inquisition's garrisons and the Dalish Camp, where Evey had recruited young Loranil, and that was without even considering the Strongholds that Celene and Gaspard had settled while their conflict lasted. But straying their path toward that river, though advantageous for their horses, would also mean more time and effort than they could afford. On the other hand, maintaining the current route meant the horses wouldn't be able to perform at their best, the scarce source of fresh grass and water depleting their strength slowly.

It also meant that by the end of the day, when they settled camp once the night had closed in around them, Blackwall and Cullen had covered less terrain than the Commander had hoped.

However, Cullen couldn't blame the slow advance on the man currently cooking the meager game they had hunted during one of their stops. He was aware of that. Contrary to his initial fears, Blackwall had never interfered with his decisions, nor complained about the forced pace he had set. In fact, he had only improved their time, making sure to remind Cullen to water the horses before their pace began to falter, or even to force the Commander to consume food and water himself while riding, just to make sure he arrived at Skyhold in one piece instead of falling from the saddle after neglecting himself.

And yet it would have been so much easier to blame it on the company, to accuse the man of being a nuisance that was making him fall behind schedule, forcing the other to go back to the Arbor Wilds and leave him on his own.

Cullen felt frustrated, and Blackwall's impeccable competence only fanned his annoyance.

And then there was the silence. Yet another thing that Cullen had implicitly requested and that he was now hating with all his might.

Silence meant that the only thing one's mind could hear was the sound of one's own worries gnawing away at any existing confidence.

What if that elf had lied? What if they had captured Evey and her group and taken them out through some underground passage hidden inside the labyrinthian halls of the Temple? What if he had said the truth, but Evey was not in Skyhold? If she had walked out through the wrong Eluvian and ended up in Tevinter? Or in another Maker forsaken forest where Corypheus' troupes waited for them and had captured them? They too had found the Eluvian in the Temple shattered, which meant its destruction could very well mean that Evelyn was now trapped in the Crossroads, fighting to come back but unable to navigate the endless gates.

The sentinels had not said anything about the state in which the Inquisitor had crossed, either. Could she be mortally wounded? With their best healers in the Wilds, had she perished, or was she agonizing while he was stuck in the Exalted Plains, idly waiting for the horses to recover? Prioritizing his life and the ones of the animals over the woman he loved?

The possibilities were as many as they were alarming.

It was never made any easier. Never less scary. Each time he thought he might lose her, might already have lost her, had not been less grating than the last. When reports had come of the Inquisitor being wounded, or the communications interrupted for more days than normal, he had never thought it was just another misunderstanding, the fear too damaging to make light of it if only in his head, even if he needed to do it to remain sane. He couldn't, despite remembering how Dorian once nervously made fun of the possibility of the Maker allowing her to die, think the same whenever fear assaulted him. The only thought in his head was the one that questioned Dorian's words, asking hypothetical "what ifs" that tortured him to the point that his heart weighed heavy in his chest.

And it was happening in that instant.

He needed to do something, anything to keep his mind from continuing down this path. If he let those pestering thoughts infect his mind, he would end up giving his lyrium cravings the opportunity to strike while he was weak and prone to temptation. And that was without considering the consequences of the debilitating withdrawals that his body's desire for lyrium would bring afterwards.

With a deep sigh, he raised his head to the man in front of him.

Blackwall seemed calm, slowly stirring the stew in the same perfect silence that had reigned between them all day. Perhaps precisely because of that, Cullen's voice sounded almost strange when he finally spoke.

-I still don't get it,- he declared, making the "Warden" raise his head. -Why are you here?

Blackwall seemed genuinely surprised at the question, but if Cullen had disturbed him, he didn't show it.

-I explained, already. It was better if you traveled with someone else.

Cullen was shaking his head even before he finished the sentence.

-No, I mean, _here,_ with the Inquisition!

Again, Blackwall looked at the Commander in confusion. Cullen had been present when Evelyn had judged him, after all.

-I pledged my sword to lady Trevelyan,- he answered carefully, almost as if he was wary of receiving the same response from the Commander.

-Yes, I know, but why?- Blackwall frowned and Cullen continued. -You _had_ your freedom. Why not use it? She would have issued a full written pardon. I know you don't think so, but she would have let you go.

Rainier nodded, his face a mixture of hurt and self condemnation.

-I know that.

Cullen was understanding less and less with each answer, but he insisted nonetheless.

-Then why stay?

-Is it so hard to understand that I want to become a better man?- Blackwall's voice was not bitter nor indignant, yet Cullen felt guilty. -I was born in the Free Marches, but I lived most of my life in Orlais. -While he spoke, he stirred the stew, his eyes lost on the small cauldron. -I spent years surrounded by their depraved and corrupt sense of morality. I knew my place, but wanted to improve it, and when the world around you plays with tricked cards, you learn to deceive in order to accomplish more.- He tasted the stew, paused and grimaced, but something told Cullen that the food had nothing to do with that expression. -I've seen it, I've played a part in it, and I used it when it was convenient. I became one of them. I used to think that was all there was.- He shook his head and raised his eyes to Cullen. -Blackwall showed me otherwise. That convinced me at the time that the only powerful organization which looked beyond personal gain was the Wardens, that everyone else was poisoned by Orlais' venomous influence. But Lady Trevelyan represents the opposite of what I was used to.- He lowered his eyes to the stew, again stirring it absently. -So do King Alistair and Prince Sebastian. With them, a change can be made. And I want to be a part of that, of something pure and just.

Even after all that had happened, hearing Sebastian's name stirred something inside Cullen, a primal need to expose the man's faults, to show him as he had met him and he was not as pristine and perfect as everyone else seemed to think he was.

-Vael wouldn't have given you pardon. He showed no mercy toward his family's murderers, and he pressured Hawke into killing Anders. He would have left you in Orlais.

Blackwall chuckled, sincere amusement making him laugh despite the gloomy subject they were discussing. Perhaps he had figured out what laid behind Cullen's commentary, or maybe it was just that he found it curious how he had ended up exactly where he needed to be regardless of the odds against him for years.

-Well, maybe I deserved that. But Evelyn doesn't think like we do. And I owe her for giving me the chance to prove her right.- He added another log to the pile, watching it catch fire for a few seconds before continuing. -So to answer your question, Commander: I'm here because I admire her, because I would die for her any day. And I would do so as a happy man, knowing my life had meaning, because she gave me one.

Cullen raised a brow, wondering if there was something else behind the man's admiration. Evey was a wonderful woman, and it wouldn't be so ludicrous to assume he hadn't been the only one from her inner circle to notice that and fall for her. Just as with Cullen, Evey had played a major role in giving Blackwall the chance to be at peace with himself, so maybe his admiration had developed into more somewhere along the many months they spent traveling together.

Rumors in Skyhold pointed at Josephine as the object of the man's affections, but those same whispers had once convinced everyone in the keep, Cullen included, that Dorian was bedding the Inquisitor.

While he was ruminating those thoughts, his face was relating them to Blackwall as clearly as if they were written on his face, so the man smiled and began to talk again almost casually.

-As for why I joined you today, that's easy. Evelyn is Thedas' only hope for defeating Corypheus. If she's lost, we're all doomed. If you're lost,- he pointed at him with the end of his spoon before going back to his stirring, -she would follow you, sooner or later. I appreciate her enough to do whatever it takes to avoid that. And I'm selfish enough to pray for a future for me and those I hold dear. One that we can only have if we succeed in defeating Corypheus.- He paused, reaching for the bowls on the ground next to his feet. -So you see, -he explained, pouring some of the grayish stew in a bowl, -I wager my reasons aren't so dissimilar from yours. The only difference is that at this moment, I'm riding away from the woman who holds my heart, while you're riding towards the one holding yours.

His tone had not changed, his voice more akin to a man talking about the weather than confessing his love for a woman that he, and everyone else, knew he couldn't have. Nothing except his determination to keep his eyes away from Cullen, focusing instead on filling their bowls, betrayed the emotion that the Commander suspected would have prevented the man from saying anything else.

He had known the heartaches of an impossible love. He had suffered it before Evey found the courage he hadn't been able to gather in the months before they kissed, and later when Sebastian had arrived in Skyhold. But his story had ended happily, whereas Blackwall and Josephine' s...

-You mean...?

Cullen's words were barely above a whisper, but the silence of the night carried them easily to the warrior's ears. But he didn't want to discuss what was evidently a far-flung hope, so handing Cullen his own filled bowl and taking his once his hands were free, he ended the conversation.

-Dinner's ready. We should eat, and then you should rest. I'll take first watch.- The smile that accompanied his reasoning, which felt like a vain attempt to remove the edge that his words might have had, didn't reach his eyes.

oOo

The rest of the trip went on without event. The terrain was still a matter of concern for Cullen, and each second of delay a fodder to his frustration, but the promise of reaching home got him through those moments when he felt his spirits fall.

Surprisingly, Blackwall's company went from uncomfortable and undesired, to almost therapeutic. Not only had their talks helped him overcome his anxiety every time they were forced to stop, but they also gave Cullen the chance to meet the man behind the false uniform, the tortured warrior who strived for better, and who regretted the mistakes he had made, even as he felt grateful for where they had led him. Cullen could certainly relate to that.

Blackwall's earned wisdom didn't justify his behavior in the past, nor would it erase the atrocity of what he did, but Cullen was hardly one to judge him for it. His own past was filled with less than honorable moments, his attitude toward mages and the necessary yet regrettable measures he had been forced to take when a Harrowing took a bad turn still haunted him, just as Rainier's crime would follow him for life.

But in a decision only made previously by the Wardens, Evey had given Blackwall the chance of a new beginning, of starting again, of earning the name he had assumed all these years, and becoming the man he had hoped to be.

She had given him that. As she had done with so much in the last year.

Cullen knew he was a fortunate man. He knew he had a lot for which to thank the Maker and his Bride, and even more to thank the woman who had miraculously chosen him above everyone else.

Evey could take her pick of all the men in Thedas. She could have princes, kings, magisters, or nobles from the wealthiest and most coveted families in the world. But she had chosen Cullen, a farmer's son, a former templar, an addict, a broken soldier, to hold her heart... And he was a better man for it.

He was not stupid. He knew many women found him attractive, if only for his muscular body or for what Dorian called his sinful features. But every time a noblewoman had proposed something to him, he had known without the need to ask that she had wanted to experience an illicit, secret adventure. If for nothing else, to presume to have "tamed" the elusive templar of The Gallows.

It wasn't much better when the suitor was from humbler origins. Peasants and commoners also looked at him with lustful eyes according to his companions, but whenever the most bold among them had suggested an encounter, they had chosen the darker alleys of Lowtown, or the indifferent streets of the Allianage. Never had anyone come to him with the desire to show their interest out in the open. And back then, he hadn't blame them, nor cared for such frivolities.

The couple of times he had acquiesced to those escapades, more as a way of letting out frustrations than from real curiosity, he had gone back to his cot in the barracks with a pit in his stomach, as if those furtive encounters had left him with nothing but a momentary satisfaction that disappeared the moment the mantle of his order fell over his shoulders again.

It wasn't as if it was forbidden, nor some promise or fear of condemnation that soured the encounters. Templars could pursue relationships so long as they didn't interfere with their duty. But he just couldn't. He was too broken for such things. And the women around him had certainly understood that, choosing him as a potential protagonist for their scandalous tale rather than a man worthy of more than a few lustful looks and sinful thoughts.

And then, Evelyn had been different. She hadn't cared for his status outside the Inquisition, or inside it, for that matter. Not once had she stopped to think about what people might say when she found out he returned her feelings. And when the tongues began to gossip, she had smiled at those rumors, turning a blind eye as she walked to his tower at the end of the day.

She had seen beyond the tortured templar, the unworthy man. She had seen more than he had ever seen in himself. And she had filled his heart with a love so pure and wonderful that the mere idea of going one single day without her soothing touch felt like a one-way trip to the deepest corners of the Void.

Perhaps it had been all those miles feeding those certainties, all those hours thinking of her, and remembering the electrifying feeling of her skin under his fingers, or the soft and tempting taste of her lips. Or maybe it was the striking fact that at his side rode a man with potentially the same unhinged feelings, but had been forced to rein in those desires in favor of propriety and protocol, condemning him to love a woman that would never answer to him as Evelyn did to Cullen.

In the end, it didn't matter what had done it.

What mattered was that when Skyhold's gate finally opened after the horns and guards had announced their arrival, and Evelyn's lithe figure was cut in the morning sun, Cullen couldn't stop himself.

Urging her Free Marches Ranger into one last powerful gallop, Cullen closed the distance of the drawbridge in mere seconds, sliding down the saddle even before the horse stopped his trot.

And there, in front of everyone present, without a care for how much they watched or how many rumors and speculations it provoked, the Commander of the Inquisition forces left his title behind and stripped the Inquisitor of hers by taking Evelyn Trevelyan in his arms and kissing her like there was nothing else in the world but the feeling of blissful relief of having her with him once again.


	66. Chapter 66

**Author's note: So, we are back! I'm so sorry it took us this long. My life took a huge turn since the last time I publish. I was informed that I got a full scholarship from CONICET (a science organism in my country) to make my pHD in nanotechnology but that also implied I will be moving 1000 kmts away from where I live now so, as you might expect, my life's been a little chaotic lately (and it will be until I move). Consequently, I've been having more problems with sitting down with a clear head to write. But, you will be happy to hear that the story is already finished (if not fully edited). The only thing I don't have already written are the epilogues that I will probably write once I'm settled in my new home.**

 **As if this were not enough, my beta had to deal with some pretty rough time lately, so we were both having problems with getting things done but we are back on track and as we promised, we will take this story to its conclusion.**

 **I'm so sorry for the wait, I thought of you guys every single day, but when something like this happens you find yourself drained of all energy by the end of the day, and that was probably what prompted my muse to run away like a rat from a sinking ship (I caught her eventually, so don't worry).**

 **I hope you enjoy this.**

Chapter 66: Second Chances

She could hear cheering, surprised gasps, and even light teasing from the few soldiers still in Skyhold, calling out to their Commander now that they were sure he was too focused on the Inquisitor's lips to care for what they were yelling. In fact, Evey was fairly certain she heard an Orlesian noble say, _"so it's true"_ in a slightly affected tone near her right. But in that moment, Cullen's hands surrounded her waist, pulled her against his body, and he deepened the kiss. And everything around her simply disappeared.

Cullen was an affectionate man. He had always been. Contrary to what many soldiers thought, he was, as Leliana had put it, a softy when it came to those he held dear, and he had never been cold with her, especially not after they began their relationship.

But despite all the kisses and caresses, all the whispers and loving words, all the nights of unhinged passion, he was, first and foremost, a private man.

They had never denied their relationship. At most, they had being evasive whenever someone had been brave enough to ask directly. Still, if she was honest with herself, they had on some occasions been careless with their privacy. Their first kiss was proof of that. The story had spread through Skyhold like wildfire and by morning, everyone in the keep had either witnessed their intimate moment firsthand or heard about it from someone else. She was certain that the only reason those rumors had diminished over time had been their abrupt separation and Sebastian's visit.

But then they had come back together, and once again the urgency of their feelings had driven them to neglect their secret once more.

Eventually it no longer mattered, and they had moved in together without a single care for the whispers and scandalous speculations surrounding them whenever they walked the Main Hall.

And yet this was another beast entirely. This was Cullen throwing caution to the wind. This was the Commander of the Inquisition Forces ignoring all his reservations and insecurities. This was a broken man admitting for the first time that if the woman he thought he didn't deserve had deemed him worthy of her attention, he would no longer be restrained by propriety or public image.

This was a man proclaiming his love for a woman, in full sight of everyone else.

And she was a woman answering desperately to his declaration.

They would never know how long they kissed, and without Josephine to remind them that some things were better left behind closed doors, they only drew back when their need to see each other superseded the urgency of their lips.

Nevertheless, the relief the Ambassador would have felt when they finally pulled away would have been clouded when Cullen took Evey's face in his hands and softly nudged her nose with his, their foreheads touching as though they refused to allow a single inch of wasted space between them.

-I was so worried,- he whispered, his sweet tone reminding her of how he loved her, even though the words were left unsaid as he leaned to brush his lips over hers once more.

It wasn't enough. He knew it even as he pulled back, but when he was about to cave to the sweet call of her lips once more, already feeling her hand bunching his shirtfront with anticipation, they heard a throat clearing off to the side, followed closely by Dorian accusing that interrupter of being a spoilsport.

When they turned their heads to look, still holding each other, the Seeker was trying with every fiber of her being to look unaffected and composed.

Cassandra was blushing just as furiously as she would have if Cullen had targeted her instead of the Inquisitor. Her eyes were focusing on anything but the couple in front of her. The whole image seemed too much for her nerves. The Commander holding the woman of his life, his powerful arms surrounding her lower back while her hands rested over his thin shirt. The heated warmth of his skin reaching her with hardly any barrier stopping them from touching each other directly and expressing their love in the most ancient and intimate way. It was just like witnessing one of her favorite books unfold before her very eyes. And the scene was too reminiscent of her fantasies to allow her to successfully hide the painfully romantic side of her that usually lied behind a grunt and a hardened facade.

She was still trying to get her bearings back when Cullen spoke.

-The others will arrive soon and they'll bring Samson with them. The army will wait until the wounded are in shape to travel,- he said as if he wasn't lovingly holding the Inquisitor in the middle of the courtyard in front of everyone, his tone as detached as when he was reporting in the War Room.

-Yes... Lel...- Cassandra swallowed. -Leliana sent a raven informing us of your journey and their plans.

Cullen nodded, his arms tightening around Evey.

-We have nothing to do but wait, then.- The Seeker was about to interrupt, more questions practically leaping from her lips now that she had the chance to concentrate on familiar topics instead of the scene she had just witnessed, but Cullen stopped her again. -Given that, you'll have to excuse us.

And he again surprised everyone by taking the Inquisitor's hand in his and walking with her toward the stairs leading to the Main Hall and their rooms, where he was planning to lock himself in with her for as long as it took the others to arrive.

But apparently, he had underestimated his need for her. They had not yet reached the top of the second flight of stairs leading to the Main Hall when he pulled her by her hand against him in another passionate kiss, which not only robbed her of the small breath she had been able to gather since he had last done so, but also allowed an even better view of everyone still standing in the courtyard.

It didn't matter. Their first kiss had been accidentally public. He would not restrain himself now that he had all but announced their relationship openly.

When the kiss ended, he looked at her, trying to take in all the minute details he loved most about her, relishing the chance to bask in them again. The way she breathed deeply without opening her eyes just yet after he pulled back, how she would press her lips together and hum softly as if she were still feeling his own caressing them, how her tongue would slip between them to wet them as if she wanted to savor the last traces of the kiss before admitting it had ended… All those small things, almost imperceptible in the short seconds before her eyes found him again, made his heart leap in his chest, urging him to take her to their tower and keep her there until they were both exhausted and bursting with the presence of one another.

Then her hand rose to his hair, her fingers playing with a stiff strand while her nose wrinkled in a mocking grimace.

-You have half the Dales in your hair, Commander,- she teased while taking his hand and guiding him upstairs and through the doors.

It was true. His hair was ashen, covered by layer after layer of dirt mixed with his own sweat, making him look older and grayer than his original color would. And that was without considering the lines of grime that probably filled every crease and wrinkle on his body, marking out areas where the dirt and sweat had gathered after days of riding almost nonstop while the horse's hooves raised dust with each step.

He also smelled badly enough to make every single noble in the room turn their heads in scandal as a disheveled and scruffy Commander entered the Main Hall holding a perfectly groomed Inquisitor. If he was honest, he was surprised she had allowed him even to hold her this close, not to mention kiss her or press her to his side as they walked the floors. So, when they reached the second door to the left leading to Josephine's office and downstairs to the kitchens and the public baths below, he turned and told her that he should bathe, at the same time refusing to let go of her hand.

-Alright. You go upstairs and I'll tell the staff to bring hot water.

That could take longer than it would take him to wash completely, so he shook his head, stopping her before she could go to the kitchens.

-Don't bother. I'll use the public baths.

-Are you sure?- she frowned, and Cullen almost regretted his decision, remembering their last bath in their room.

-I am,- he answered, not at all certain of it, but choosing to lean in to kiss her once more instead of caving to the desire of asking her to join him. The small sound she made when their lips met and his hands cradled her face almost made him reconsider, but then she spoke, giving him the chance to rein in his desires.

-I'll bring you some clean clothes, then.

He nodded, and just like that, she was gone, leaving him disoriented now that she was not in his arms to give him purpose. He didn't move until he saw her disappear behind the tower's door, too enraptured by her to take a single step while she was within sight.

A few seconds later, when he was certain she wouldn't come back and change her mind about giving him privacy, Cullen took the first steps to Skyhold's lower levels just as Evey leaned against the other side of the door to their tower.

She had stopped to give herself a moment, to steel her resolve and stop herself from going after him. For days, she'd been worried sick for him. For all of them. When the Eluvian had closed behind her, she had jumped back on her feet to punch the dead, cold glass as if she could bend it to her will by sheer force. She had demanded Morrigan open it again, begging Solas when the witch didn't waver in her resolve. But the elf had been as impassive as the sorceress. And she knew that if Dorian had held the knowledge of how to open it for her, he would have refused as well.

There had been nothing else to do but wait. A long and almost maddening process that stretched for days.

Without many options to keep herself busy since Dorian had pushed her through the Eluvian, she had paced all around Skyhold, day and night, until she felt herself growing increasingly exasperated at her friends' tight control. Everywhere she went, there they were, making sure she was not carrying any suspicious bundles to the stables, or saddling a horse to escape the fortress in order to reach the Arbor Wilds and fight alongside her men.

And then Leliana's raven had arrived, and her fear had been granted the freedom to concentrate solely on Cullen without feeling the nagging and bitter bite of her conscience telling her that she had no right to put him first in her thoughts when hundreds of men were dying while she was safely locked away in Skyhold.

She had prayed to the Maker and his Bride for Cullen and Blackwall's safe return, wrote messages to scouts in the Inquisition's camps in the Dales, and waited until her nerves pushed her back on her feet once more, to pace again over Skyhold's grounds, feeling its walls closing in on her as much as her throat tightened whenever a new morning arrived without news.

Nothing but silence greeted her when she reached their quarters at the top of the tower. The room was quiet, and the scenery so perfectly immaculate that anyone might have thought it had never been in use.

It was the first time she had entered since she came back. She had refused to step one foot inside the tower while Cullen was away, instead choosing to sleep in his old bed over his office where no amount of washing could hide Cullen's scent from pillows and sheets. There, she would walk the Fade, feeling him close whenever her body refused to respond anymore and she would fall in bed into a restless sleep.

And now, when she finally climbed the stairs to the tower once again, she did it with her mind set on getting back out of there as soon as possible, wanting nothing more than to go back to Cullen, if only to sit next to him while he bathed.

Despite that, it still took her nearly half an hour to knock on the public baths' doors.

Getting clean clothes for him had been quick, and the same could be said about taking her own stuff back to the tower, but then she realized that he might be hungry after such a long trip, and went to the kitchen to take some food up to their room.

It had been that which had delayed her the most.

Practically the whole staff was taking a break between the hours since breakfast had ended and when they would need to begin lunch preparations, leaving only the cook who had a tendency to be overprotective of her job and extremely territorial of people rummaging around in _her kitchen_. But just as she could be terrifying at times, she was also quite kind (if a little gruff), and she had taken a motherly interest in Evey almost from the first moment she met her. She would always check that she had eaten whenever she would stay up late in her room working, and more than once she had almost imposed an herbal concoction of her own creation to keep her healthy and strong in the winter.

When news of the Commander moving into the Inquisitor's tower had spread through Skyhold, the woman had prepared a private, romantic meal for their first night together, sending it by surprise in what almost felt like an approving gesture from a motherly figure.

It was no shock then, that after seeing the Inquisitor gathering an assortment of cold meats, cheese, a loaf of bread and a good wine, that the old woman decided this was not an appropriate meal for a man who had, in her words, "crossed half of Thedas to find the woman he loved".

Therefore, Evey didn't climb the stairs to her room until fifteen minutes later. Still, she couldn't argue that the quality of the food upon the tray had certainly improved, and that was without even considering that she had left the kitchen only after promising to send word to get a nice warm broth delivered the moment they sat to eat.

If the kitchen had been deserted, the way to lower levels seemed almost abandoned. Not that this was particularly strange. Except for the soldiers' brief showers after morning drills, people in Skyhold bathed preferably at late afternoon or even nighttime this time of year, but to have all the baths just for the two of them seemed almost too fortunate, so much so that unseen butterflies began to flutter at the possible implications.

As she reached for the door, a sudden wave of bashfulness attacked her. It was ridiculous; she had seen Cullen naked so many times that she could close her eyes and recount every scar and mark on his body. And yet the idea of entering a place where one could walk in on them at any given moment to find him naked and her fighting her desire to join him was not a feeling she was familiar with. Life in the Chantry called for secrecy when it came to intimacy, and even some degree of risk at being discovered while fumbling in semi public places, but she was no longer a teenager taking the first steps into sexual exploration while hiding from the Revered Mother. She was a woman, and the Inquisitor on top of that. But in that moment, as her hand reached for the knob and she began to open the door, she heard the telltale sound of water splashing as someone rose from the carved tubs. It was then that she realized she didn't care for anything but reaching the man responsible for those sounds.

Inside the baths it was almost pitch black, just a small brazier lighting the third tub, its glow coming from behind one of the separating screens that allowed whomever bathed in it some degree of privacy. Cullen's trousers where hanging from one stool, his filthy shirt half on the floor and over his muddied boots at the end of a trail of wet footsteps that followed a path to the door. But there was no sign of Cullen anywhere.

Or at least that's what she thought in the short second after she turned to get the door and look for him outside and right before she felt the weight of a body pressing against her back, a pair of hands that she knew only too well enveloping her waist.

She felt the heat of his skin reach her through the leather of her uniform, his warmth surrounding her as completely as his voice did a moment later.

 _-Evey..._

Her name slipped past his lips in a small caress, his breath brushing the back of her neck softly in perfect contrast to the firm and unyielding press of his body against her back.

She felt waterdrops slipping behind the waistline of her pants, rolling down her lower back until they were lost inside her trousers in a path that Cullen was eager to follow, one of his hands already dropping to her stomach, the fingers brushing the ties of her pants as his other hand raised to trace her breast through the uniform.

She let out a ragged sigh, her hips instinctively pushing back against him and feeling his desire even through the towel he had wrapped around his waist.

-Tell me to stop,- he begged, his voice faltering with his longing, lips brushing the edge of her ear as his nose traced just behind it to inhale the sweet jasmine scent he had missed on his bedroll. -Still my hand and ask me to let go because...- She shuddered and the movement against his body made him hiss. -Maker, I won't be able to restrain myself, otherwise.

He nibbled the lobe of her ear, a groan escaping his lips as he felt the soft skin slip between his teeth, as if he were holding to the last threads of his sanity, the need to devour her superseding almost every other sensation to the point where he could barely control himself any longer.

It had been too much. To think of her in danger yet again, to night after night be greeted in the Fade by nightmares of an empty life without her. He had used his last ounce of willpower when he'd stopped himself from throwing her over his shoulder the moment his boots touched the courtyard, only to walk straight to the tower and to the blissful realizations of a life where she was his, and only his.

Now, as she entered the empty baths after making him wait for more than his frail self control could tolerate, he felt something snap inside him. He had missed her as a caged bird would miss the wind under its wings. Because she was exactly that for him. She was the one who had him soaring the skies with happiness, the one who lifted him higher than he'd ever been in his life. She was a basic need for him, and he was done denying himself, denying _them_ , the freedom of living their love without restraints.

There was only one thing that could stop him now, one single thing that would make him force his body into submission again and walk away. Just one word for her, one sign that she didn't want this, and he would be gone. No matter how hard it was, no matter how the mere idea physically hurt him. He would release her and drown his desire deep inside him.

Somehow, he would have managed to do that... if she hadn't breathed those blessed words.

-Don't stop…!

His lips were on her neck the second the last syllable left her mouth, his hands already making quick work of her clothes.

Since the first time he had battled against her uniform, Cullen had become an expert in taking the impossible garment off, and this time was no exception. Even with his mind fogged by blinding need, his fingers traversed over the buttons in seconds, letting her feel the cold air on her chest the moment the garment touched the floor and his hands dropped to take care of the rest.

When he began to lower her trousers, the leather slowly pushed its way down between two bodies that refused to be separated even to discard the barrier that stopped them from feeling themselves completely. As the leather rolled downward to expose her, it pushed his towel to the floor and brushed against his desire, making him hiss and shudder against her. The fabric finally fell past her legs and onto the floor, where impatient feet tried to kick them aside and over her boots, along with her smalls.

Evey's skin was searing against his, his own wants reflecting in her body so perfectly that he had to press his forehead to the back of her head just to stop himself from taking her there and then.

But then his eyes opened, and he saw the way her back curved to push her bottom against him. His hands fell to her waist as he lowered his lips to the dip of her spine between her shoulder blades, following a straight line with his mouth until he reached her neck again. It was then that one of his hands took her chin to turn her head and kiss her as his body finally melded against hers, his chest to her back, drawing a deep moan that was lost between their lips and traveled down the length of his body.

His hand dropped from her chin to her breastbone, pushing her chest against him as his other hand tightened its grip on her waist, his fingers twitching when she widened his stance, allowing him to step closer.

And then they were one… and the world made sense again.

His hand slid over her abdomen just to stop himself from bruising her. She felt wonderful; every single time it felt new, unique, perfect in its own right. He couldn't get enough of her, no matter how many times they joined in this dance. He was a slave to that feeling.

His left arm surrounded her as his right hand traced a path to her breast, his fingers lightly brushing it and making her shudder with pleasure. Her body trembled in his grasp and the movement lit a fire inside him that nothing but her touch could control. She dropped her head back until it rested on his shoulder, and Cullen seized the chance to guide his lips to the unique gift of her mouth, where he was lost as much as his body was losing itself in her in a last, fleeting moment before they released the reins on their control.

There was a groan and a whimper, and that wonderful calmness was gone, pushed aside to give way to raw, primal passions, to frantic and desperate movements that threw them in a race to the peak of their pleasure, the rush of their desire dizzying them and forcing them to lean on the door.

It was completely different from what they were used to. From the start, they set a frantic pace that felt almost animalistic in its hunger. A desperate declaration of their need for each other in the most basic and wonderful way.

His hands were everywhere, climbing her body ravenously only to drop again in the next second, as if he wanted to cover every inch of skin all at once. With each thrust, his breath clashed against the back of her neck, the sound of his breathing, so urgent and unrestrained, making her whimper and fervently move with him in a greedy quest to reach completion. He was talking, but his words were lost between his heavy pants, each inhalation pressing his chest against her back and making her moan as his body pushed into her.

And then he was straightening his back, one hand holding her waist again as the other splayed between her shoulder blades and began a descending path over her spine, covering the places where his lips didn't reach when he kissed every scar. When his hand climbed to her neck again, his fingers buried in her hair, now free and falling wildly over her shoulders and down her back, sticking to her skin with the combined sweat of both their bodies. That sight awakened the most basic part of him, that dark side that turned him into the Lion some had accused him of being.

Sliding his hand over her shoulder and down between her breasts, he pulled her back against him, raising her until she left the safety of the door and leaned against his body. As he felt her back straightening until she aligned with him, his mind teased him with the notion of how they would look if they were standing in front of a mirror. The idea of seeing her in all her glory, desperate and at his mercy while they faced their reflection, made the lion inside him roar, the man claiming her groan as he raised his lips to her ear, whispering his fantasy in a deep, ravenous tone.

Her eyes rolled and her head fell to his shoulder once more, the cry reverberating in her chest sliding past her lips and into Cullen's ear. That sound, that wordless plea, the feeling of her answering to his fantasy, fanned the fire inside him, and he began to thrust in earnest as he lowered one of his hands to her greatest pleasure point, to take her with him beyond that blissful limit.

One of Evey's hands searched for the arm Cullen still had crossed over her chest. Feeling her reaching up to him, he entwined his fingers with hers, tightening his hold in pleasure as her other hand clawed nails over his scalp, her end nearing with his.

And when that moment came, when they led each other to that unique and sacred high that fed their love until it burst out of them in a myriad of urgent and incomprehensible sounds which expressed their feelings better than any language ever could, they fell together. Joined as one and indistinguishable as two beings who utterly belong to each other could be, they fell to the cold floor in a mass of limbs, tangled in each other while sharing breaths and kisses until they felt there was nothing in the world but themselves.

Eventually, the need to breathe became stronger than the immediate desire, not clenching it completely, but taking momentary priority as their lungs protested at their lack of attention. But that didn't mean their need to be together was gone, so Cullen shifted slowly, sitting entirely on the discarded towel, and moved his hands to her waist with all the intention of pushing her flush against him once more.

He didn't get too far though, for the moment he had moved her a couple of inches toward him, she hissed in pain.

His hands retreated as if his touch had burned her, and he immediately raised them to her face.

-What is it? Did I hurt you?

She shifted until she was sitting on her side over a small patch of towel between his legs, her feet dangling at his left, still trapped between her lowered pants and boots. She smiled and caressed his chest.

-You didn't.- She kissed him briefly before starting to untie her boots. -I just sat on one of the damned clasps.

She shifted once again as if trying to keep her weight off the spot where the clasp had bitten her skin. When the ties of both her boots were undone, she leaned over her stomach to take them and her pants off, giving Cullen a perfect view of her back and waist where red patches of skin in a telltale finger pattern dotted the area.

His soft caresses seemed nothing but another sign of his need to keep the contact between them, and Evey simply smiled, urging her hands to finish their work faster so she could dedicate her entire attention to him once more. But when that happened, he was frowning, still brushing the tip of his fingers where her skin showed signs of his previous enthusiasm.

Evey turned her waist until she could see what was bothering him and chuckled.

Before his eyes could show more heartache or that small flicker of anger could turn into rage at her utter dismissal of what was a genuine and serious matter of concern for him, she raised a palm to his cheek, forcing his eyes to leave the aggravated skin and concentrate on her face instead.

-It was wonderful. I loved every minute of it...- She took one of his hands and placed it on her waist, feeling his fingers twitching with concern at touching her there again. -Including these.

-Are you sure? I wasn't too rough?- His fingers were softly brushing over her hip, his other hand cradling her face as guilt gnawed at his conscience.

-Are you serious?- He was if the look he gave her was any indication, so Evey turned over his lap until she was sitting astride of him. -Cullen, it was perfect.- She leaned and kissed him softly, her lips climbing a sensual path to his ear.- The things you did,- she nibbled his earlobe, -the things you _said_.- She shuddered and his own body responded when he remembered what he had whispered as his fantasy had assaulted him. She lowered herself just a tad, her body teasing him and lighting his desire once again. -You have no idea what it did to me,- she breathed.

Almost of its own accord, his other hand fell to her hips too, holding her still lest he lose control once more. In response, her nails raked his back, the sharpness there just grazing the skin in their descending path. He groaned, fighting the need to tighten his hold around her waist.

-I'm starting to understand,- he said.

She chuckled in his ear and he felt his fingers twitching on their own, losing their grip on her enough to allow her a sensual movement that made his hip softly thrust upwards. Then, as if she hadn't done enough to awaken his body to the point where its call for her was almost unbearable, her lips brushed the edge of his ear as her chest pushed against his, and her voice shattered his self control.

-You know, there's a mirror in our room…

With another feline growl, he hauled her up in his arms as he got to his feet, his only regret being the fact that he would need to put her down before he could take her upstairs. Unless they wanted to scandalize Skyhold's residents by walking thought the main hall in nothing but the morning breeze covering them.

oOo

On the afternoon of the day that the rest of the inner circle came back from the Arbor Wilds with their prisoner in tow, Evey climbed the stairs of the library, still laughing. She had just left Cullen's office, and the episode he told her between stammers, blushes and snorts made her rush out, desperate to find one of the protagonists of a story worthy of one of Cassandra's books.

-I heard you almost blinded poor Cullen,- she said in a lilting tone. But if she was waiting for a remorseful look and a guilty demeanor, she had forgotten who she was dealing with.

Not even trying to play aloof, Dorian instead decided to counterattack, his knuckles turning white as his fingers gripped the book tightly in his hands, betraying his nerves.

-Me? You're one to talk,- he said while reclining in his armchair. -People are still wary to enter the public bath without knocking after you two defiled it with your colorful antics a couple of days ago.- The words were methodical on his lips, analyzing Evey's reaction and assessing which intonation made the blush deepen.

Realizing that she had provoked a professional whom yet again bested her at her own game, she sat on the armrest of his chair, sighing and rolling her eyes.

-Oh, Dorian. So dramatic.

-Usually true, but not in this case.- He draped an arm around her waist and pulled himself up again to whisper close to her. -In fact, this morning after drills, I caught a few soldiers goading one another to knock on the baths' doors and mumbling about the possibility that the Commander was in there with "company" after he left them to gather their gear.- He tightened his hold on her waist significantly. -You should have seen their panicked faces when Cullen loomed behind them yelling "as you were!" looking all masculine and powerful.- He had imitated Cullen's voice, which made Evey laugh just by the disastrous result. -But then he turned,- he leaned even closer to her, as if he were about to divulge the most important secret in all of Thedas, -watched the door for a few seconds with the most perfect gaze, and sighed dreamily.

Evey's eyes were focused ahead, as if she was also remembering the same memories that had assaulted Cullen that morning.

Seeing her lost in thought, Dorian traced a single nail over her spine from her lower back to her shoulder blades, making her shudder at the contact.

-You have the same blush he did when he saw me,- he accused victoriously.

Evey cleared her throat both to regain composure and to dispel the images now plaguing her mind. The battle was lost, though. Dorian's perfect grin and her embarrassed blush had already declared him the winner.

In a last attempt to take him down with her in her certain descent to utter shame, Evey tried one last attack.

-And what were you doing in the baths after the morning drills?- she asked in the most insinuating tone she could muster while Cullen's memories still held most of her mind captive, the rest desperately fighting the effects those images had on her.

-A gentleman never tells.- He moved to one side of his chair and pushed her down the armrest until she sat with him, both squished into a space that was never designed for two people but that gave him the chance to place an arm over her shoulders and ask her in what would have been a surreptitious way if they weren't sharing a chair in the middle of the library. -But he _does_ ask. How _was_ it? _I_ heard it was riveting!

She pressed herself against the opposite side of the chair just to gain some space to look at him in shock.

-You heard? From _whom?_ \- She tried to ignore the way her voice pitched at the end of the question. Dorian's wolfish grin showcased that he had noticed her nervousness in spite of that.

- _Everyone,_ \- he mocked as he leaned and touched the tip of her nose with his, only to lean back again the next second, looking smugly at his nails as if the matter had become irrelevant all of a sudden. -I thought I made that clear.- He raised a single eyebrow and stared her down, completely amused.

-You might be surprised to hear that ladies don't tell, either.

She raised her head and looked down on him for a couple of seconds the way she had seen nobles do in the Winter Palace before pushing herself forward, giving her back to him as if he was unworthy of her attention. That only pushed him into adopting the same tactic, holding his chin with one hand, the other cradling his elbow and looking at the nape of her neck as if he were assessing her. Then he began to talk slowly, progressively getting closer to her until she could feel his breath on the back of her head.

-That _is_ surprising, considering the cries that travel down from your tower _every time_ you two are up there alone.

-Well,- she replied, looking over her shoulder with a small smirk that quickly reflected on his face, crawling over her lips despite her attempts to look serious, -if that's true, then there's no need to ask, is there?

And she got up with a flourish of movement from her hips, her head held high in clinical superiority, just as Vivienne had taught her.

Dorian seized the space regained and slouched in the chair, looking like a king on his throne.

- _Touché_ , my dear,- he pointed the words with a waggle of his brows, -as the Orlesians say… who, incidentally, -he rose in a single, elegant movement to walk toward her, -are thoroughly heartbroken after that public kiss in the courtyard the other day. Very scandalous by the way. -He winked to take some of the edge off the accusation. -But if you don't want to talk about our delightful Commander's sexual prowess,- he squinted mischievously on the last words, -what shall we talk about? The way you're using me to hide from Josephine, perhaps?

Again, a raised eyebrow, this time with false recrimination.

-I'm not hiding.

Her answer came out just as believable as her childhood excuses whenever her mother found her practicing with her daggers instead of studying the Chant.

-You are. I can't say I blame you, but you are,- he said with practicality.

Evey sighed. Lighter times were over, and as inevitably as she knew it would be, darker subjects were bound to arise.

-Yes, I am.- She turned as she leaned over the railing, facing him. -How am I going to do this, Dorian?

All amusement was gone from both their faces, the prospect of what was to come erasing all happiness.

-The same way you always do.

His tone was sincere and held an edge of the vulnerability she always felt in him whenever Dorian saw her worrying after something. This time though, the weight of her duty made her ignore her friend's wonderful empathy, pushing her to answer more bluntly than she pretended.

-Really? That's your best advice?

But Dorian, Maker bless him, knew her too well to get offended by what he knew was nothing but the Inquisitor being completely honest and open with him by showing the frustration her position usually brought on her.

-As a matter a fact, it is,- he grimaced as he looked behind her before masking his face into one of careful indifference. -And anyway, it's not like we have time for any other recommendations.- He subtly nodded to the space just behind her, where Leliana was slowly walking toward them.

In the last second before the former Left Hand of the Divine reached them, he stepped closer to her and placed one hand on her shoulder.

-He's no different from the others, Evey.

-…Except that he is.

Those were Evey's last words before Nightingale joined them to walk together to the Main Hall.

oOo

 _Templars have always been used. How many were left to rot like I was, after the Chantry burned away their minds?_

He felt it at his core. The weight of duty, the tug of his leash, the indifference of whom should care and appreciate his dedication.

And it burned.

It burned as much as those words he knew real and true, but that he hated nonetheless. It was so unfair, so cruel, so biased that he could never acknowledge how right they were, and yet he couldn't find it in himself to secretly support the indubitable honesty behind them. So, he had stood there, clenching his jaw and swallowing that part of him that knew Samson was correct. He had remained impassive, showing nothing but disdain for a man that deserved no less, even when he was now speaking the truth.

 _I followed him so templars could at least die at their best._

He remembered noticing how his armor seemed to grow heavy as a man lying in the street rambled with his hand outstretched, begging for coin to silence the song constantly playing in his mind. He heard the man's tongue explore his dried mouth, the lyrium making him perpetually thirsty and forcing him to crawl toward the puddle of water accumulating at the end of Lowtown's stairs. The man didn't grimace when he drank it. Even when flies scattered off at the disturbance on its surface, even when vagrant dogs refused to drink it, he didn't waver. The desperate thirst his withdrawal had given him was stronger than whatever repulsion he might have felt before.

And Cullen just watched as he walked by. He didn't recognize the man, too new in Kirkwall to know him, but some of his companions did, and they also didn't spare a glance for the desperate man. He was not even that old, probably a disgraced templar in his mid forties, kicked out of the order over some insubordination, the lyrium deprivation making him less than nothing to an order he once served.

So, Cullen thought of Samson, and looked over his shoulder to see if he could throw him a significant look, to warn him that the nameless man could just as easily be him one day if the Knight Commander found out about his deal with Maddox. But Samson was just like him, and he refused to make eye contact with him or the beggar currently tugging at his Templar armor.

He remembered seeing the man later that month, curled up in a ball against a wall, unmoving and rigid, his hand grasping the empty lyrium vial that had finally killed him. Maker knew how he had managed to acquire it, but he had taken too much after too long without it, and the substance had burned away his body from the inside until there was nothing left of the man that once was but an empty, forgotten husk.

It is an unspoken truth about the Order. Those cut off suffer and die. But the Chantry will see to them, will take care of them if they follow the rules.

 _Yes, I fed them hope instead of despair._

The Order promised to give men and women a purpose, a life worth living in the service of the Maker and Andraste. A Templar stood between the normal, innocent, vulnerable people and the potentially dangerous mages. They protected both commoners and their charges alike, keeping watch to make sure nothing corrupted the gift that the Maker had given the mages. They lived to make the holy scriptures true.

Magic exists to serve man and never to rule over him.

It was a mantra instilled into their minds as young men. They were the mages' salvation, their guardians and protectors. They would save them from themselves and from their gift.

They would serve a purpose greater than themselves, and they would be remembered. The Chantry will never abandon them.

Only reality wasn't like that. The Chantry made them believe they were humanity's only hope when in fact they were little more than glorified jailors who ignored the blatant truth that they themselves were prisoners, as well.

They held the mages' leashes, and the Chantry held theirs.

It was despair disguised as hope. It was the promise of security at the cost of freedom. It was making their power stronger by keeping them weak.

 _I made them believe their pain had purpose. Just like the Chantry does. Right Commander?_

The hunt of an apostate that lasted longer than was expected. Endless hours of a body recoiling against him, an acute, desperate wail reaching his ears and confusing him in the short seconds before he realized it was himself who cried out in his pain. Trembling hands reaching for a box that he held dearer than his own life, only to find it mercilessly empty.

They had to find it. They had to lock him up and take him back to the Chantry, where the pain would go away, lost at the bottom of a glowing vial.

One more day, one more mile, and they would catch the apostate and come back to the warm, calming song of lyrium. They needed to do it. It was expected of them. Their pain kept the people safe. It had been his fault; he hadn't taken enough vials. And they couldn't go back.

The phylactery was warm, pulsing in his palm. The apostate was close. Just a little more, one last effort, and they would catch him. And then the song would dull in his mind, it would turn into a tender tune that would lull him back into normalcy. There would be no more hunger pangs, no more fatigue, no more headaches, no more thirst... No more suffering.

The pain would go away.

But the song had never truly gone, not while the Chantry held his leash. It had taken Cullen years to realize it, and with it, he had seen the difference between the wisdom and compassion of the Maker, and the devious and deceptive face of the Chantry. Templars were tools, just more pawns with which the Chantry played their games. And the certainty he felt had been so close to Samson's accusations that a rock sat in his gut when Corypheus' General turned his eyes to him and asked him that horrible question.

 _Everything I cared about is destroyed._

Again, Cullen had felt uncomfortably in tune with Samson. He'd been where that man was now. Perhaps he hadn't made the same terrible choices, nor followed such a dark path, but he knew what it was to realize that everything he once held dear had been lost.

After Kinloch Hold, and again after Kirkwall, he felt something inside of him die. First, that hollowness had given way to hatred, and had turned him into someone that he now didn't recognize. A man filled with anger and distrust, a templar barely worthy of his title, warped by his own prejudice and bitter past. Then, as the tables turned and he was shown the reality of it all when Meredith betrayed everything the Order represented, he once again thought everything had ended for him. What else there was for him if the Templars had proven to be fallible? What use could he have if the Order's way was not the most honorable?

The Inquisition had given him hope. It had shown him another way. It had given him the chance to redeem himself, to set things right and to live beyond a life made up of too many mistakes and regrets.

Evey had given him even more, shown him there was something else besides a fallen templar or a broken man. She had bestowed on him a new life, one where he could be himself, and not what the Chantry had made of him.

But now, the life he had fought so hard to leave behind had caught up with him and was looking him dead in the eye, accusing him of hypocrisy, showing him that it hadn't forgotten who he was and what he had done. Samson's eyes represented that life. The voice of his enemy had ironically turned into the voice of his own conscience, his past returning to torture him, to point at him and condemn him with a desperate thought he couldn't shake whenever Samson turned those eyes on him.

 _This could have been you. This could still be you._

Cullen doesn't want that reminder. He doesn't need it. But then Evey delivered Samson into his care, and he was forced to clench his jaw and act as was expected of the Commander of the Inquisition's forces.

Inside, however, he was screaming.

 **oOo**

 **Author's note: In case you are wondering, the episode that "almost blinded poor Cullen" is a direct reference to one of the funniest scenes in the game but with Dorian instead of the Inquisitor, where Cullen, Josephine and Cassandra walk in on Bull and the Inquisitor naked in bed. In case you didn't see it already, fix that immediately, you won't regret it (Josephine's face is priceless) watch?v=rr8-5Fn_6XY**


	67. Chapter 67

Chapter 67: Bitter Choices

Cullen had read the reports stating that the Red Lyrium song was deeper and stronger than regular lyrium. He'd felt it faintly when he'd traveled to the Shrine of Dumat, but nothing compared to what was now trying to open its way through his mind.

Perhaps it was the fact that Evey was now safe, standing in front of her throne after Samson left the room escorted by guards, and without that distraction keeping his mind busy, he could hear the tainted lyrium calling him more clearly than when he had been focused on protecting her. Or maybe it was just the fact that Samson's appearance didn't reflect, as the man himself had explained, his true state. Between his armor and the Red Lyrium in his veins, Samson was covered in as much of the nightmarish substance as probably one of the biggest behemoths they had fought, only Corypheus' magic delaying the decay that should have consumed him long ago.

And that lyrium was angry. It was hungry, and in its desperate search for a new victim, it had shifted its poisonous attention to Cullen.

He told himself it was madness to think of it as a sentient being, shutting off that devious voice inside his mind which remind him of Bianca Davri's discoveries that proved the Red Lyrium had the taint, which made it as close to a living creature as it could ever be. But as Samson walked away the song only grew stronger. It should have been the other way around; it should have become more distant, fainter, and yet it seemed like it was screaming at him, like it wanted to remain close to its next victim.

Samson didn't have much time left. He had said so himself. Without Corypheus' magic protecting him, it was probably a matter of days before he became little more than a husk.

For Cullen, no amount of time was quick enough, just as no matter how much the former templar suffered, he would always feel it was a blessing in comparison to what he deserved.

Many months ago, Knight Captain Veddir had written a report with tactical considerations for the Inquisition and had described the scream of the behemoth as something born purely from agony. He had mentioned how his soul cried for the brother or sister in arms trapped inside that beast. Cullen had felt the same way when the letters recovered from Suledin Keep had reached his desk. There was a templar that had even been willing to pay Imshael any price to get rid of the Red Lyrium running through his veins. And behind all that, behind every single former templar suffering, was Samson's hand.

The General, the man who promised power and delivered only agony.

Evelyn had handed Samson to him, probably convinced that he could leave his personal feelings behind as any good Commander would, and put aside the atrocities the man had committed in favor of aiding the Inquisition in their fight against a larger threat.

The words had come to him automatically.

 _You are not wrong, but you served something greater than yourself once. Perhaps you can be made to remember that._

And for a second, for the fleeting space of a breath, he had believed those were his real intentions.

Now, as the Red Lyrium screamed in protest at being taken away from its next perceived target, Cullen felt his promise was hollow. His initial statement had been right. He wanted to see Samson suffer. He wanted to shut himself off from his disturbing truths about the Chantry. He needed to stop the maddening cadence of the Red Lyrium singing to him. He craved to replace that tune with the sound of Samson's cries when the substance took his life slowly and painfully, making him pay for every single templar he betrayed, tempting them to take a path that led only to their destruction.

But instead of that, he had been forced to accept him. To welcome him inside the fortress he had come to consider his home, and to risk his sanity and those of his men's for someone who deserved nothing but the leisurely descent into the madness and suffering of Red Lyrium.

With a last cry, just as Samson walked outside the main door, the song stopped. Cullen's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, not sure if the silence brought him solace or if that disturbing and dreadful feeling of emptiness meant he was already craving its return.

It was a thought too terrifying to consider in that moment, and the fact that he thought he saw that very same question reflected in Evey's eyes when she turned urged him to act before she had the chance to voice it, forcing him to face the reality of the situation.

He saluted Evelyn, turning before he could see the pained and confused look on her face when his tone sounded too detached. There was no soft inflection in his voice, no sweet edge to the way he pronounced her title, no small sparkle in his eyes as he looked at her. It was a calculated and effective salute, a military formality and nothing more. A means to get the dismissal he was looking for, even if she hadn't provided it when he turned to leave. It was a greeting he had left behind a long time ago, one that separated like an abyss had opened up between them, one that had not come to his lips practically since they arrived at Skyhold.

The fact that he only registered her distressed look when he reached the safety of his office spoke volumes to how deeply her decision had affected him.

So there, in front of his desk, the Lion of Skyhold paced.

He couldn't focus on her in that moment. It wouldn't take long for his soldiers to come asking for orders regarding Samson. He needed to be taken to temporary quarters (he refused to think of permanent lodging for a man that, Maker willing, would be dead sooner rather than later), have duties assigned to make him useful somehow, and Cullen had no idea how to will himself to plan any of that. With any luck, the look he had sent the soldiers standing guard outside his office would be enough to dissuade anyone from asking after solutions that day. Even if that were true, however, he still needed to think about those issues for the following day. Or the day after that.

It was something that couldn't be ignored, and that very notion made him grab up his daggers and begin an improvised target practice with the dummy that had been delivered early that morning from the undercroft to be approved before it was implemented in the training grounds.

The idea of imagining Samson's body instead of the dummy was too tempting and entirely inappropriate for someone in his position, but he was alone with his thoughts now, and for a while he indulged in that fantasy.

He was throwing the fifth dagger when he caught a glimpse of Evelyn entering his office.

The discussion about what had just happened was inevitable, and for the first time since he met her, he truly wished he could escape her. He barely wanted to be near anyone in that moment, much less talk about what happened, but he knew that was exactly what she had come to do.

He sighed in resignation. There was no escaping her questions. Despite that, his mind took charge and let his voice fly directly at her, soft and resigned.

-Samson took everything from those templars.- He grabbed a report from the table, the feeling of her eyes on him spurring Cullen into doing something to stop himself from staring back at her. -He corrupted their _souls_ ,- his nose wrinkled in disgust, -twisted them into everything they stood against.- He raised the report to eye level, the notepad blocking her from his line of sight. -Everything they would have hated.- He breathed out one last, bitter truth.

As always, her voice came soothing, compassionate in her intention and her tone.

-I know the Red Templars fight for Corypheus, but I feel sorry for them.

Cullen lowered the report, averting his eyes from anywhere near her. He knew she meant well. The feeling was a noble one, and he had felt similarly, not too long ago. But the contrast between that misplaced compassion for people that were no less than hosts for the tainted substance which fuelled their power and controlled their minds, and the decision she had made not fifteen minutes ago, condemning him into something akin to torture for a man in his position, made Cullen fight to control himself.

-They're barely _human_ now,- he continued ruthlessly. Then, his eyes flared with unhinged contempt. -The Red Lyrium left Samson's mind unaltered. He _knew_ what he was doing.- Cullen bit the words, his eyes focusing on her now. -And he dares speak as though it were a _mercy?_ \- The intensity of his glower was making her uneasy, but just as it became almost unbearable, he lowered his eyes to the floor, glaring at it as if he could see Samson at his feet begging for the forgiveness he was not willing to bestow. -The man's a monster.

His eyes searched for hers again and he could not mask the anger in his voice or the disapproval on his face.

-I pray his information is useful. His _life_ is good for little else.

He lowered his head and focused on the discarded report on his desk once again, hiding his eyes from her.

As irrational as it might have sounded an hour ago, Evey felt like she was losing him in that moment, his expression so detached and condemnatory that he barely resembled the Cullen she knew and loved. She realized he had let himself be dragged into his torturous past again, and instinctively she reached for him to help.

-Samson _is_ everything you say, but it's over. You have to let this go.

Those words seemed to hit him in the chest. He raised his head and his eyes fell on her features as if he were seeing her for the first time, an incredulity in them that might have caused anyone to think they were complete strangers to one another.

-Over for _us_ , perhaps.- He grimaced and corrected himself. -For you and for Samson. Not for those still controlled by Corypheus.- He pointed toward the nearest exit, his voice gaining strength. -Not for me! Not now that I'm to take care of the man that corrupted _everything_ the Order represented,- he bellowed.

Evey could do nothing but stare in disbelief as he vented his frustrations. First his eyes were on her, accusing her silently, blaming her for what she had thought would be a way for him to find true peace. But then, he looked away and paced uncontrollably. She felt an unbearable void filling her when his eyes roamed the room as if searching for prey to attack or anyone that might replace her as the focus of his ire.

And for the life of her, Evelyn didn't know if his indifference was better or worse than his anger.

-The Red Templars needed to be torn down,- he kept saying, his tone lowering to a dangerous rumble. -We've broken Corypheus' army.- Reaching the end of the short trail between his desk and his bookshelf for the umpteenth time, he turned again, sparing a short glance toward her that froze her blood and broke her heart. -I might have known some of them. If my life had gone differently...

He stopped in his tracks, the revelation hitting him like a shield bash. His feet shifted on the floor, the repressed movement revealing to her that he had meant to recoil from his thoughts… only to realize there was no escaping them.

-I might have _been_ one of them. -He raised his eyes to her, and the hurt and vulnerability that flashed in them momentarily made her gasp in desperation. -Am I to become that now? Is that what all of this is about?

Evey had lost the ability to speak, and that only fanned the flames of Cullen's anger. He shook his head, trying to dispel the poisonous thoughts that Samson's presence and the Red Lyrium song had brought up. His insecurities, his fears, all that he had fought so hard to exile from his life. It all came back in a rush.

His temples throbbed and his body staggered until he rested his fists on the desk, trying to find some support. His veins were calling for that exotic, dangerous substance, the temptation of a more powerful lyrium turning him into just another templar who traded one corruption that had always run inside him for another that would sprout out of him in red, angry crystals. Only to leave him lost in the taint that his body craved from the moment he refused to take another lyrium vial. The same taint that filled Samson's body and had called up to him from his position at the Inquisitor's side in the main hall.

She had known; she must have felt it, too. She had _seen_ what that thing did to people, what it did to templars. She had witnessed what the blue variant had done to him and had helped him fight it. And for what? To deliver him to the mercy of the red?

From the corner of his eyes, he saw her taking two hasted steps toward him when he braced himself over his desk, but as soon as she drew close, she stopped herself from reaching him, the memory of his accusatory eyes too strong to close the distance between them.

He tightened his fists, his knuckles pressing tightly against the mahogany in a vain attempt to control himself.

 _She had known._

-What in the Maker's name made you believe that entrusting a Red Lyrium infused man to my care was a good idea?

He had pronounced each word slowly, as if he was savoring the bitter taste they left in his mouth, as if each one weighed heavily on his tongue and the effort of voicing them was as enormous as resisting the Red Lyrium song that now began to hum again at the back of his head.

Evey hesitated for a second before raising a hand to his shoulder, her answer traveling the distance between them faster than what it took her to reach him.

-I thought it might bring you some closure.

The words reverberated off the walls of his office, as if the room had grown impossibly large. They echoed in his mind, multiplying and torturing him until he felt the need to shut his eyes just to stop himself from losing his grip on sanity at what felt like a booming crash thundering against his temples, feeding an oncoming migraine.

When her fingers brushed his forearm, he recoiled as if she had burned him, all the rage and indignation back in his amber eyes, making them shine like fire.

- _Closure?_ \- he asked, looking at her in disbelief. -He represents everything I'm trying to leave _behind!_

He paused long enough to take a few heavy, sore breaths. His lungs ached, but he couldn't be sure if the pain was his treacherous body complaining at his disregard for its cravings or the fact that in that moment, Evelyn looked at him as if he had stabbed her.

He sighed, one hand rubbing his temples, his head lowered in defeat even as his voice held a dangerous edge.

-Did you even stop to consider what his presence might do to me?

His hand was still covering his eyes, the tip of his fingers massaging his throbbing temples and hiding the impact of his words on her.

Cullen hated the calm resignation he was feeling. His heart was beating as rhythmically and slowly as a steady metronome, lazily pumping blood through his body, ignoring Evey's distressed gasp completely, as if he had become immune to all and every feeling except for the burning need to answer the call of lyrium.

He was numbed, and not even the sweet touch of her voice roused him.

-Cullen, I didn't...

The desperate tone, the almost inconsolable edge in her words, should have stirred something in him. _Would_ have stir something, before all this. But now, he felt nothing but inevitably. It was as if he had finally awakened from a perfect dream that had no place in real life. As if he had at last seen his mistake and faced the consequences of his foolish fantasies.

All he had fought against, all he had withstood and now he was standing again where it had all begun, facing his past and feeling there was no strength left in him to oppose it. And the fact that she had welcomed that past and cleared a path for it to reach him just made it all the worse.

He had been a fool. She didn't understand. She couldn't understand, and she never would.

-No, you didn't...- He shook his head, his hand falling limply in front of him, eyes trained on the floor in front of his boots.

He could hear her breathing just one step away from him. Short, restrained gasps for air that tried to calm a fiercely beating heart that desperately called for him, only to find him immune to its pleas. She fidgeted in place, doubting whether she should close the distance between them or not, fearing his rejection more than she suffered his indifference.

Her mind was rushing with possibilities, urgently trying to find the solution to what she now realized had been a terrible mistake. A way to reach out for him, to pull him out of that dark corner he used to seek refuge in and bring him back to the light they shared. But it was useless. In that moment, with the lyrium still whispering in his ears and Samson's words poisoning his mind, Cullen had closed himself to everyone. The hardened, merciless, frightened templar born of Kinloch Hold stepped ahead and took control of the man she knew and loved after he had fallen into desperation.

She didn't know this man, and the knowledge that, even in this moment, she still loved him, only made his next request all the more unbearable.

-Leave me, Evelyn.

Those three words broke their impasse, making her launch forward and take his hands in hers, invading his personal space and forcing him to look at her as she stepped closer to him, entering his direct line of sight. There was a finality in the way he asked to be alone that cut her deeper than the sharpest blade. And she felt herself bleed from a wound that he only deepened with every moment his eyes refused to look at her.

-Cullen, please… I'm sorry, I thought this might be good for you, that it might help you overcome what happened, but just say the word and I'll kill him myself.- She raised his hands to her lips, the last words caressing fingers that laid lifeless in her grasp. In her desperation, with his rejection tearing her heart apart, she felt his hands, cold as death. It was as if his body was reflecting the indifference of his heart. -I would never do anything to hurt you,- she declared between sobs, the tears falling over their hands and sliding off his fingers just as his ears disregarded her very words. In one last, hopeless attempt, she kissed his hands and whispered, -I love you. I'm… I'm sorry.

There was a twitch in his fingers, and when she looked up, she saw the faintest hint of a reaction. But it was fleeting, so much so that she wondered if she hadn't imagined it when he began to retreat, leaving her staggering at the loss of his body's support.

-I know, I…- He disentangled himself from her, stepping back and putting distance between them. -I just need some time to process it all.

And before she could argue, before her body caught up with her mind's urgent demand to stop him, he walked out of the office.

oOo

Even with two thirds of the people usually living in Skyhold posted in the Arbor Wilds, the fortress was still buzzing with activity. Soldiers ran up and down the battlements as they saw to their duties, recruits concentrated on their morning drills, messengers delivered updates on the troops as the ravens entered the rookery, commoners followed their routine while merchants tried to tempt them with their latest products. Even caravans arrived to restock their food supplies from the nearby villages. So it was not strange that, between all that activity, no one noticed the Inquisitor leaning against the southern door of the Commander's tower, breathing deeply to fight the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

She needed to calm down. No matter how much it hurt to remember Cullen's blank expression, she could not allow herself to break in front of everyone, especially not when she still needed to go through the rotunda and the main hall before she could reach their bedroom and...

Her chest tightened even more, her breath catching in her throat as her body refused to function after that last thought.

Was it still _their_ room? Was there still a _them_?

Cullen had said he needed time to process it all, and she had automatically assumed he meant the situation with Samson, but now a treacherous voice inside her head wondered if he could have very well meant reevaluating their relationship. Would he do that? Would he walk away now, after all that happened? All because of Samson?

She was getting herself worked up and if she didn't move, she was going to stay there and collapse under the weight of her own fears. So, undusting the same technique that had allowed her to look straight into a crackling rift without feeling her heart bursting in her chest from sheer panic, she fisted her hands, sighed heavily, and pushed herself away from the door to walk toward the rotunda, closing her eyes tightly as Cullen's angered voice berating the soldiers flew to her ears from the courtyard below.

Crossing the rotunda was an easy task. She felt Solas' eyes concentrating on her more keenly than the simple fleeting looks he usually gave her as she passed by his study, the elf carefully registering her distress despite her best efforts to hide it, but filing it under the things he should observe further before intervening. It was a characteristic she had always appreciated from her elvhen friend. He was never oblivious to her problems, but was also respectful of her personal life and the nuances of her duty, and being a private man himself, he usually granted her the distance she needed to figure things out by herself unless she asked or he saw she was in dire need of advice.

Sadly, not all her friends were like the elvhen apostate, and even though she managed to avoid Dorian by forcing a carefree tone in her greeting to Solas, therefore stopping an interrogation from the Tevinter from the moment he heard her distressed intonation, she still fell victim to Varric's ever attentive eyes.

She had barely crossed the door to the Main Hall when the dwarf raised his head to look at her, picking up on her mood even through the perfectly composed mask she thought she had conjured to hide her anguish.

-You alright there, Goldilocks?

Even after more than a year, the storyteller still struggled to find a good nickname for her, and lately he had decided to concentrate on her physical trademarks, which had inevitably led him to this last try that had him grimacing the moment it spilled from his lips. Apparently, his search for a worthy moniker for Evey was far from over.

For a second, she just stood there, stupidly alternating her eyes between Varric and her bedroom door at the far end of the hall. She even considered teasing him about his terrible choice for a nickname and pray that would distract him enough to forget about his question. But then she remembered this was the dwarf that had wasted both Cassandra _and_ Leliana's time while they searched for Hawke. If the Right and Left Hand of the Divine had not been able to make him slip in his carefully crafted speech, Evey had no chance of changing the subject at her convenience.

Sighing, she sat down next to him and told him what had happened, economizing words as if they were Sovereigns, fearing too many details might make her crack in front of all the curious eyes of the resident nobles and commoners.

Varric's answer was, for once, blunt and lacking all the embellishments that so frequently plagued his stories.

-Shit. I thought something like that would happen,- he muttered, shaking his head at the regretful curse of always being right.

-What do you mean?

Once again, her friend grimaced, this time with the bitterness of the reality that was clawing at her nerves since she talked to Cullen.

-Well…- He joined his fingertips in front of him, like a chantry steeple. -Curly's no fan of Samson, but add the Red Lyrium into the mix,- his lip curled up as if he had tasted a lemon, -and you've got a gaatlok barrel ready to go off.

Her demeanor had probably looked even more crestfallen after that, because he quickly tried to diminish importance to his own words.

-I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it.

Neither his tone nor Evelyn's face gave much hope on the certainty of that, so he tried another approach.

-He just needs a little R&R.- Allowing his fingers to slip until he laced them together, he leaned forward as if he was about to tell her the biggest secret in Thedas. -I can help with that. After all, we _are_ old friends.- He breathed a soft " _sorta_ " immediately after that, unable to stop that impulse, but at the same time not feeling like completely admitting to this half truth, even despite the fact that Evey didn't need that small admission to know he was bending the facts to fit his narrative, as per usual. -Maybe deal a few hands and let him win his dignity back from the last time we played Wicked Grace.

As he talked, he disentangled one of his hands and wiggled his fingers in the air in her direction, and Evey couldn't help but think of one of the fake conjurers of the town fairs back in Ostwick. But in that moment, desperate to do something, _anything_ , to fix her mistake, she would have been not only inclined to trust one of those colorful characters from her hometown, but to give Varric full freedom to do whatever he thought might help alleviate Cullen's suffering. Even if she was aware that giving Varric such free rein could prove even more dangerous than believing the sleight of hand from the Free Marcher's scammers.

oOo

For Cullen, the rest of the day had passed by in a blur of reports, strategies, troops movements and late afternoon drills. His men had tacitly understood he was not to be questioned about his new responsibility, something for which Cullen couldn't be happier. In fact, it wasn't until late in the evening when he was informed that Samson had been taken to a cell until further notice, apparently under the man's own formal request to the Inquisitor. It turned out that his former brother in arms had been as satisfied with Evelyn's decision as Cullen himself was and, fearful that he might lose his mind surrounded by healthy, strong bodies perfectly suited to contain the Red Lyrium that now claimed their sacrifice within him, Samson had thought it wise to keep himself isolated from the rest of the Inquisition.

At least until Cullen decided what to do with him.

It was moments like these when Cullen missed Rylen the most. The Knight Captain had not only been a competent second in command, but also a reliable friend during the time Cullen had suffered the worst of his withdrawal, helping him, and even taking care of most of his duties when his body refused to function for anything but to demand more of that blue substance that once fueled his life during his years as a templar. That is, until Evelyn had found out about his struggle and had begun to take care of him.

Giving up on a report he had tried to read three times already without success, Cullen's eyes fell over the unfinished and already cold meal that had been brought to his office an hour ago. He had no doubt Evey had something to do with its delivery, and as that thought crossed his mind, he felt a twinge of pain vexing his chest and making his heart falter in its previously determined and constant beating.

During the day, Cullen had hardened his heart to a cutting edge, the events of both his past and his present colliding in a dangerous and poisonous wave of pain that filled him completely, making him more susceptible to the Red Lyrium call and the bitterness of what had felt almost like a betrayal. Now, as the day came to an end and the prospect of a cold, lonely night away from the woman he loved became more of a reality than a possibility, he felt the ice around his heart thaw with the memory of the warmth he had denied himself while fueled by an anger that had much more to do with his own demons than Evey's unfortunate decision.

He placed both elbows on the table and held his head in his hands. He felt his heart come back to life, staggering and punching his ribs with the intensity of all the emotions he had repressed until then, which now attacked him with the weight of his actions. He missed her, terribly so now that there were enough hours between Samson's judgment and the current moment to give him some perspective. He still couldn't condone what she had done, and the cold and bitter stab of resentment lingered even while his skin tingled with its need to feel her close. But now his heart battled between the weight she had settled on his shoulders (and what that burden meant for him) and the love burning inside him that demanded her nearness.

Dinner must have ended a while ago, even before his own arrived without his request. The wind still carried some of the telltale noises, hinting that Skyhold was awake despite the hour, though he had no doubt most of those signs were coming from Herald's Rest, their night barely starting when the rest of them had called it a day, long ago. In consequence, no one would have blamed him if he were to give up on the elusive report and went up the ladder searching for the painfully empty solitude of his loft, trying not to think whether or not Evelyn would be waiting for him to join her despite the hour.

But the truth was that Cullen couldn't find it in himself to climb that ladder. There was an inevitable finality in that simple action. A unavoidable confirmation that, even when necessary for him, didn't stop hurting him as he was certain it was hurting her. He didn't want that; he hated the idea of causing her pain, but his instinct of preservation screamed that he needed to lick his wounds alone before he could come back to her to try fixing things. If for nothing else, to save her the pain of suffering the mask of indifference and coldness that instinctively raised to his aid whenever he considered what had happened.

He raked his nails all the way over his scalp until he held the back of his neck, burying his fingers in the stiff muscles there as he cursed his own vulnerability. Evey had made a mistake, yes, but she didn't need his demons getting in the way of her duty. Just as she didn't need a man that allowed the ghosts of his past to haunt him so thoroughly.

With yet another sigh, he lowered his hands to the armrest of his chair, deciding to push himself up, when the eastern door opened.

In the short second until the opening door unveiled the identity of his visitor, Cullen's heart rose to his throat, his stomach churning under the possibility that Evey had come looking for him.

Instead of her, however, Varric appeared. And he didn't know whether to feel relieved… or disappointed.

-Hey, Curly,- the storyteller greeted him, making him grimace at the dwarf's insistence at calling him by that nickname. -Don't you think it's time for a little break?

Cullen was unsure what surprised him the most: the fact that Varric, whom rarely if ever showed his face in his office, had come all the way up the battlements despite the fact that he hated the stairs (which, in his words, were not meant for someone with short legs), or that he was casually commenting on Cullen's work habits as if it was a common enough topic between them.

If he was honest, he'd had more dealings with Varric back in Kirkwall, when the dwarf had rarely left Hawke's side, than in the year since the Inquisition had been established. It wasn't that he didn't like the dwarf. Cullen had nothing against him, not even after the storyteller had included him in one of his most salacious works while he was still a Knight Captain in Kirkwall, but he couldn't say they were close. In fact, in all the years since they'd met, Varric and Cullen seemed to always be related through mutual acquaintances. First Hawke, and now...

-A what?- he said before his train of thought led him again back to Evey.

Varric smirked. He had hoped for the chance to tease Cullen to better ease him into this proposal, and the Commander had unwittingly given him just that opportunity.

-I know you're not exactly _familiar_ with the concept, but go with it.- After a few seconds without any reply, he answered Cullen's awestruck face by nodding toward the door.- Come on, I'll buy you a drink.

Without even giving him a second to think about it, Cullen's mouth was taking charge of the situation and answering for him.

-I'm afraid I'm not in the mood, and I don't have time.- He shuffled through his papers, looking for something to distract himself despite the fact that he had been about to abandon them just before Varric entered his office to recruit him for his and Hawke's nocturnal drinking sessions.

But the dwarf was cunning, and better men had fallen victim to his wit. Cullen was nowhere near a match for him.

-What better time than when there's no time at all?- he shrugged his shoulders as if proving the complete infallibility of his logic.

And as he'd expected, Cullen looked confused, trying to will his tired mind into following his reasoning through hours of endless work and emotional and physical exhaustion.

He should have answered automatically again and refused more sternly without giving himself time to consider the idea. But whether the Red Lyrium call still muddled his thoughts, or his heartbreak pushed him toward some semblance of comforting social interaction that would distract his mind from thoughts of what he had put at risk today by arguing with Evelyn, he did indeed contemplate Varric's proposal for the exact amount of minimal seconds the dwarf needed to strike the coup of grace.

-Exactly,- he said as if he'd been following Cullen's train of thought. No matter that the Commander hadn't had one to follow in the first place. -I've got a tall mug of ale with your name on it.

The idea didn't sit well with Cullen. Actually, if possible, this was the worst night to accept Varric's offer, especially when he considered how the night had ended the last time he had agreed to something similar. But still, the levity he had experienced that distant night while in the company of friends and the woman he loved sounded tempting enough to make him deliberate it, even when he knew Evey wouldn't be a part of it this time. Not in the tavern, nor after he retired. She wouldn't be following him back like last time.

Unbridled memories of what happened in his office that night after their game of Wicked Grace filled his mind. He could almost feel himself pressed against his desk, lost in heated kisses and exploring her body as far as he dared while she did the same with the generous amount of skin his opened shirt had left for her to caress. He heard her breath in his ears, followed by those sounds that always managed to drive him wild with desire and desperate with need. Then, once that memory was lost under the sensations that overwhelmed him while he remembered that moment, and before he could even stop the inevitable descending spiral where his mind was apparently determined to take him, another episode where his desk had been their main support as they walked the first steps into real intimacy stroked him.

When the sound of her voice calling his name between pants sent a chill down his spine and his body reacted with the first stirs of desire, he pushed himself up from his chair, a look of determination in his eyes that made Varric's smirk grow as he read the answer to his proposal clearly in the Commander's eyes.

And of course, Cullen would later come to regret that decision.

oOo

Several hours later as he traipsed into his office, feeling even worse than before and listening to his mind scream his thoughts louder than the Red Lyrium song, he was sorry for leaving his tower in Varric's company.

He had known of Varric and Hawke's affinity to fill someone's cup when that person was otherwise distracted. The Champion had done that to Evelyn the night before Sebastian arrived at Skyhold, but he never imagined they would repeat it on him. And especially not in Cassandra's presence.

But there he was, stumbling toward his office, mind completely numbed by the alcohol and wondering how many times they had refilled his mug without him noticing, and why he was feeling the distinctive burn of liquor when he had only ordered ale.

It had all begun with an uncomfortable silence that was only broken after Hawke took a massive gulp of his drink, sighing heavily while pushing a mug of ale toward him and looked back at him with more regret than he'd ever seen in the Champion's face.

-Welcome to the "I blame myself" table, Curly.

But before Cullen had been able to question what he meant, Varric had interrupted.

-Don't go stealing my nicknames, Hawke.

-I beg your pardon. I distinctly remember calling him "Curly Head" before you. Remember how Isabella wondered if he had curls all the way to his...

-This was a bad idea,- complained Cullen.

-Now, don't be like that,- came Hawke's immediate retort, getting up from his seat to push Cullen toward the table where a mug filled with ale awaited him. -Besides,- he added as Cullen sat, -every good night starts with a bad idea. -He winked, but Cullen noticed how the usual sparkle was gone. -And if that doesn't work, at least we can pass out without thinking of "what ifs".

Cullen's eyebrow twitched imperceptibly, feeling a pang of angst twist his stomach at Hawke's words. Unfortunately, Cassandra was sitting to his right and caught the grimace before he partially covered his face while taking a long swig of his mug.

-I know _that_ look,- she half grunted, demolishing Cullen's hopes of avoiding anything related to the subject Hawke seemed so determined to discuss.

-I'm fine,- he grunted back, only to be silenced with one of Cassandra's most furious glares.

-I suppose lying to a Seeker of Truth wasn't the best plan,- he added, raising his mug once more and looking at her apologetically. When he felt the amber liquid sliding down his throat for several seconds, all in which Cassandra didn't stop glaring at him, he lowered the mug and said, -I've been better,- without noticing that Varric had filled his cup again, this time with a darker and stronger kind of ale.

-Well, cheer up!- Hawke's voice reached him from his left. -At least you aren't the one who spoke in Samson's favor to reinstate him in the Order.

The last word echoed inside the Champion's mug only to be drowned the next second by the alcohol filling Hawke's mouth.

-Easy Hawke, you'll give yourself a headache.

-As if the smell of Red Lyrium hadn't taken care of that already. Right, Cullen?- He raised his mug toward him, and Cullen felt his stomach churn.

Luckily, Hawke seemed to be the kind of drunk that monologued, and before he could say anything in return, the Champion kept talking, allowing Cullen the chance to remain silent and drink a bit more.

-I still can't understand why Evey didn't kill him.

-She did what she thought was best. As she always does.- Cullen surprised himself at how hastily he had jumped to Evey's defense. If he'd have guessed, he thought he would have been reticent to defend her decision, considering how it had affected him. But the moment Hawke grimaced in disapproval, he had all but raised his shield to protect her from his undeserving judgment.

He knew deep down they were trying to help him, letting him know that he was not the only one disturbed by what had happened, nor the sole person feeling guilty for not stopping Samson before, but Samson's fate was not something he felt like discussing, and Evey's decision didn't exactly top his list of favorite subjects, either.

Hawke had a point, though, and no matter how much Cullen hated to admit it, even to himself, Samson had one, too. A desperate man was capable of anything, and there wasn't a man more desperate than one abandoned by his Order and his Chantry to suffer the cravings of lyrium alone until nothing but death eased his misery. Samson had known the Chantry's indifference firsthand, had experienced what it was like to be without lyrium and how little the Order cared for his plight. When reinstated, he had seen Meredith fall into madness and the war between mages and templars erupt, threatening the peace he had found again in the bottom of a lyrium vial. He had been adrift, terrified of reliving that torture again, and in his desperation, he had allowed his hate to guide him into Corypheus' hands, taking his brothers in arms and friends with him.

Maybe they could have stopped him. Perhaps if Hawke, or he, or even Meredith had acted differently, Samson would have died from lyrium withdrawal in Kirkwall's streets and wouldn't have become a threat, nor poisoned so many in his search for power.

In the end, though, it didn't matter.

Cullen was certain that either Corypheus would have taken Samson out of the streets to be his General anyway or he would have found another corrupt templar to do his bidding.

But even knowing that, their involvement still stung. As much as the liquor going down his throat, or the lingering burn in his stomach after Varric desisted on refilling his cup in favor of distracting all of them from such grim subjects, teasing Cassandra with a new romance series he had supposedly been working on. It burned as much as each step toward his lonely bed consumed his heart, knowing that somewhere in what he had so naturally come to call _their room_ up in the Inquisitor's tower, Evey had certainly fallen asleep, feeling the weight of guilt that he had settled deep inside her.

oOo

If lyrium withdrawal had taught Cullen anything, it was how to withstand incapacitating headaches. He had suffered so many migraines over the months since he took the last draught that he could almost ignore something as mundane as a hangover. A pain like that was nothing compared to the eye piercing and temple banging torture that came with detoxification.

Sadly, that morning's perks started and ended with Cullen's ability to soldier through his headache.

The night before, nightmares and old demons had taken Evey's place on his bed, making him toss and turn relentlessly until the first ray of sun entered through the hole in the ceiling, waking him up to a day that promised to be even worse than what he had just experienced while lost in the Fade.

It had been almost unbearable, if rather eye opening. He had spent so little time at her side, and yet his need for her comforting presence had been such that anyone would have thought he had known her love for years now. Every time his nightmares had startled him and he had bolted into a seated position, he had missed the immediate solace of her arms around his torso, her soft whispers in his ear. Each of those times, he had faltered in his conviction, more than once jumping off the bed, unable to contain the desire to run to the main building and up the tower in search of her. But not once had he even reached the ladder leading down to his office. When the cold wooden boards of his loft had touched his bare feet, he had remembered why he was here and not with her, and that reminder had been enough to make him slink back to his bed, and to the torturous world of his nightmares.

It wasn't as though he didn't _want_ to be with her, but even if he were inclined to forget the looming threat to his sanity that was the new responsibility which she had bestow upon him, he couldn't be sure if she would be willing to receive him after the way he had treated her that day. Even without those two barriers, he was not entirely certain that seeing her in that moment would be good for either of them. She was probably hurt and defensive after what he'd said, and he was still walking on thin ice when it came to his emotions, both for the Red Lyrium still calling for him from afar, and for the emotional strain of the impending confrontation with Samson and his past.

 _No_. He couldn't face her, yet. Not before he dealt with Samson.

The only problem was, Cullen didn't want to deal with him, either.

His solution for that was something that didn't make him proud: he procrastinated the confrontation. Locked in his office for almost half the day and going out only when his duty as Commander demanded it, he spent the day coming up with excuses to delay his meeting with Samson.

He knew it was a cowardly thing to do. He was aware that everyone else noticed his pitiful strategy, and he also felt the disapproving looks from his braver soldiers, some of them even daring to venture a casual question about whether they should warn the guards outside the cell Samson had stubbornly refused to leave that the Commander would require the man's presence in his office soon. They all received the same stern and menacing look, and they all recoiled in submission.

But as the hours went by and the breakfast and lunch trays that most certainly Evey had sent came and went untouched, Cullen realized he couldn't hide from his duty any longer.

The minutes until Samson was brought to him felt like ages where he could do nothing but pace in the small space between his desk and the bookcase while he waited attentively, defensive and fearful of the moment the Red Lyrium song would become stronger as the soldiers escorted Samson closer to his door.

But the song never came. Not as he expected, at least.

It was still noticeable, and it still pulled at Cullen's body with a hunger that made him cringe, but it was weaker, muffled as if it were trying to attract him from beyond a stone wall, where no matter how loudly it screamed, it could never entirely reach Cullen.

It wasn't until the eastern door opened and Samson was led inside, left alone in his presence, that Cullen's mind faintly remembered a report that explained why the Red Templar's tainted blood was not singing with the strength it had had the day before.

By order of the Inquisitor, Samson's armor had been disposed of properly, buried deep into the Frostback Mountains and surrounded with glyphs and enchantments that would prevent anyone from reaching it, knowingly or by mistake. The mages had used a similar magic to the one Dorian had used in camp when they had traveled to Orlais, and any living creature lurking in its surroundings would find themselves unable to contain the burning need of putting some distance between them and that spot, stopping the armor or the Red Lyrium embedded in it from poisoning anyone else.

It had been that which had muffled the Red Lyrium song in Samson, the amount of substance running through his body still a death sentence following the course of his veins, but significantly reduced from what had decorated his armor only yesterday.

And just as his whole presence seemed less threatening without the protective layer of metal and Red Lyrium to shield him, Samson looked like they had torn his very soul away along with his armor.

Never in his life would Cullen have thought that someone could look more weakened in just under twenty four hours than the man in front of him now appeared, for that morning Samson seemed little more than like one of Dorian's animated corpses. His skin had lost any lingering trace of health the Red Lyrium had not taken from him thus far, turning his formerly robust complexion into something akin to a sickly grayish hide that hung too loose on his bones. His pace, though still carrying a certain pride, faltered with each step, as if he were constantly stumbling into invisible obstacles that hindered his advance. He had lost hair overnight, the patches of baldness covered in dried scabs that slowly oozed thick, dark blood whenever he scratched them absently. But the most unnerving detail was his eyes, completely devoid of the strength they had boasted the day before, the red halo that had glowed with cold and unforgiving power now dulled, as if the Red Lyrium coursing lively through it had begun to die and crystallize in a vain attempt to cling onto its host.

It wouldn't be long before the Red Lyrium took his life, and it sickened Cullen at just how much that knowledge brought him solace. Samson deserved everything that was happening to him now, and yet the idea of seeing anyone go through what the man was clearly experiencing made his stomach turn.

When the door closed behind the last guard, leaving them alone as Samson struggled to stand at attention, Cullen silently opened the top drawer of his desk, searching for the vial he had requested just in case before sending the order to bring the Red Templar to his office.

It wasn't red lyrium. No information Samson could provide was worth keeping a stash of the tainted substance within Skyhold's walls. Not now that Dagna had reached an impasse in her research. And no matter how close he had been to this man in the past, or how grave his condition was, Cullen would never provide him with a crueler version of the chains he had sought to break from himself.

Still, Samson was and deep down always would be a templar, and the sight of blue lyrium would bring even his mostly dead eyes a glint of excitement and hunger that made Cullen's heart ache when he recognized the same desire he had fought so fiercely to eradicate from his life.

Nevertheless, even though there wasn't a chance that the man in front of him hadn't noticed the draught Cullen held in his hand, and despite the clear uneasiness that the song coming from the blue substance had caused in him, Samson didn't move, wary of the Commander's intentions at showing him a means to get at least a small iota of peace.

-It's not what you're craving, but at least it will help with the process.

Cullen's words took Samson out of his musings, making him flinch in place as the Commander's deep voice reached his mind through the lulling song of the lyrium in his hands. And when comprehension settled in his brain, he looked up in confusion.

-Why waste part of your supply on me?- he asked, still distrustful of what should have been a merciful gesture.

-It's the Inquisition's supply, not mine.

Samson's eyes focused on Cullen, trying to read between the lines of the Commander's cryptic statement.

-If you are trying to poison me, Commander, you're wasting your time. The Red Lyrium will soon do your dirty work for you.

-If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't be standing here now.- He placed the vial on the desk in front of Samson, his fist hammering against the mahogany with enough strength to break the fragile vial, but somehow managing to keep it intact within his fist. -Do as you wish,- he spat bitterly, -but the offer expires the moment you step out of that door.- He gestured toward the east exit. -If you want to suffer the withdrawal alone and in pain, so be it. I couldn't care less.

Samson slowly reached for the vial, his eyes trained on Cullen as if he were expecting the Commander to deny him at the last second, only to watch him squirm in frustration and agony at being so close to finding a small respite and losing it before he could take it.

When his fingers closed around the small flask and Cullen remained impassive, Samson moved faster than he appeared capable of, opening the vial and gulping its content in one go before the cork could bounce twice on the floor.

The pleasant moan that followed curded Cullen's blood. He had heard that before. He had uttered it himself not so long ago, but in contrast to the wonderful sounds that Evey provoked with her blessed touch, the bliss the lyrium provided was fleeting and double edged, taking whomever drank it to indescribable heights and stealing their freedom all at once.

For Samson, the effect was even worse, since nothing, no matter how soothing to every other templar, could replace the exhilarating rush that Red Lyrium used to give him. This meager substitute, once everything he had desired, now infuriated his body, making it rebel against him and sending painful pangs that made his heart falter in his chest.

But then... there was peace.

Temporary and aggravating as it probably would be for him, it was still peace, and that was something Samson hadn't experience in a long time.

When he looked back at Cullen, his expression was almost grateful.

Words of appreciation had almost slipped past his lips, driven by the lyrium refreshing his burning veins and quieting the red song, when the eastern door slammed opened.

-Commander, sir!- a soldier called.

The man had clearly raced all the way to his office in a mad rush, and the fear he saw in his eyes gave Cullen a sense of foreboding that sent the blood soaring through his body at a frenzied pace. Each second the soldier took to fill his lungs with air deepened that feeling, something that only became worse when the man found himself standing next to Samson and suddenly hesitated in delivering his message.

-Out with it!- Cullen's heart was galloping in his chest, the furious speed of blood rushing in his veins making him momentarily lightheaded.

-The Inquisitor, sir. She disappeared into the Eluvian and hasn't come back.

Rounding his desk in three long strides while his chest was seized with terror, Cullen stood in front of Samson for six precious seconds to deliver one last, dreadful warning, before dashing out of his office.

-If you have something to do with this, the torture of the Red Lyrium will be a blessing compared to what I'll do to you.

 **oOo**

 **Author's note: Usually here I would say something like "sorry for deviating from the canon" but to be honest I never understood how Cullen meekly accepted the Inquisitor delivering Samson into his command, the man represents the worst for him (a fallen templar, an addict, the road he could have walked if he wouldn't have gotten out of the Order in time, etc) so I changed that.**


	68. Chapter 68

**Sorry for the delay, it was mother's day here so I wasn't home**

 **oOo**

Chapter 68: What Draws Me to You

The Maker willed it that, in the handful of minutes that it took the soldier to reach Cullen's office, Evey and Morrigan traveled back through the Eluvian with Kieran in tow. So, when the Commander finally entered the room where the mirror had been held since the Witch brought it in, the Inquisitor was already there, briefly discussing with Leliana what had happened while Morrigan knelt on the floor and held her son close to her in a gesture as sweet as it was uncharacteristic.

The clicks of his boots on the stone floor made Evey turn, and when their eyes met, Cullen felt his soul crash against the ground.

The last time he had seen her, the emotion in her eyes had been almost too much for him. Now, as she looked at him, he saw a coldness that could only be compared to his own on the day of Samson's judgment, and it hit him so strongly that he lowered his eyes to the floor, missing completely the flick of pain that filled her expression and the deep intake of breath she took to compose herself.

The roles had been reversed, and Cullen felt the justice of the Maker too overbearing, even when he knew he deserved it.

Breathing deeply twice and raising his eyes, he found her now looking at Leliana instead of him. He began to walk without pausing to think whether it was wise to do so.

-I...

His lips moved before he could stop them, before he could even think what to do. He couldn't call her by her title, his need to close the breach he himself had opened too deep to maintain even that small distance. No matter that their positions within the Inquisition demanded a certain level of subtlety when addressing one another in public, or the fact that up until then, and when not sharing in intimate moments, they had always kept their relationship as professional as possible. At that precise moment, all of it seemed unimportant.

Still, when he tried to utter her name, the invisible hand of his pain placed a tight grip on his throat, extinguishing that and any other word before he could form them. And then that chance was gone when she began to talk.

-Everything is in order. We've found a way to stop Corypheus' dragon. His end is near.- In his mind, Cullen heard the silent implication behind her words. _Their_ end, the end of the Inquisition's mission, was near as well. But before he could gather the courage to ask her more about it, she added, -Morrigan and I will debrief you all about our findings tomorrow at midmorning.

As she talked, she focused more on her spymaster than on him, and now that she was done, she began to walk toward the exit behind him, tensing as she got near him, her throat bobbing in an attempt to keep composure.

It wasn't until she reached his side that Cullen found his voice again.

-Are you alright?- he asked, knowing perfectly well that she wasn't, just as he was not.

A more appropriate question would have been if she was unhurt, but that sounded too detached, as if he didn't care about anything but her ability to perform her duties. And still, it didn't seem enough, so with a thread of his voice, he whispered her name, feeling it burn when he didn't see her eyes shine with happiness at the way it sounded coming from him.

This time, when their eyes met, Cullen saw what she had been hiding. And he couldn't be sure if that was a blessing or a curse, urging him to take her forearm, his touch firm but not confining.

-Kieran is safe. There's nothing to worry about now.

Her voice had failed several times, the tone evident of the rawness of her throat after a whole night of weeping in desperation against her pillow. There was a faint redness like freckles below her eyes and dotting over her cheekbones, silent proof of the tears he had caused. And the vulnerability that shone briefly spoke of how deep he had wounded her, a pain that even now cried out to him, begging for a comfort he knew she would reject, despite how much she needed it.

This was not the time, though. No matter how it killed him, he couldn't do anything but let her go.

So he did. Unable to do or say anything else, his hand slipped from her arm, allowing her to take the next steps toward the exit, and all the others that she needed to widen the distance between them once more.

oOo

As it had become a constant in the last two days, Evey left the gardens and went straight to her quarters... Their quarters...

She took her head in her hands as she walked. This had been a constant as well. Each time she had thought of the room up the tower, she doubted whether she was still allowed to consider it "theirs". It had been theirs for a short time in comparison to the endless nights she had spent there alone, but significant enough to make it almost impossible for her not to think of it without feeling her throat close with anguish.

Cullen had almost looked at her just the same way he used to before, eyes glimmering with hope, fingers twitching as if he could not contain the desire to reach for her, and when they finally did, he struggled between holding her tight and allowing her the freedom to choose until he knew she felt the same. But it had been so fleeting, a moment as fragile as she felt, that she couldn't be sure.

She had wanted to know. She had felt her heart leap the moment the door opened and she saw him in her peripheral vision. But when she turned and faced him, strength left her.

She had been awake most of the night, collapsing finally in the wee hours of the morning, exhausted from crying and overanalyzing everything. She had paced, a habit she had picked from the same man who made her tears flow unrestrained, her feet taking her back and forth in a room that had been theirs less than two days ago. She had started dozens of letters, trying to convey what she was certain she wouldn't be able to express even by gathering all her remaining strength. But she had failed miserably after every word she wrote felt devoid of all meaning. She had walked down the stairs of the room to the thick wooden door, determined to walk to his tower and talk to him, at least six times the night before, only to climb back up again with her pulse racing furiously in her throat at the mere idea of what she had been so set on doing only a moment earlier. She had even weighed the option of running to The Herald's Rest or raiding the wine cellar in the hopes of imitating Varric's custom of drowning his sorrows in several bottles, but even that had seemed inappropriate for the situation. Alcohol dulled both mind and emotions, and she needed to feel the pain that was coursing through her body at that moment, for there was one truth she couldn't deny, no matter how much Cullen's words cut her: She had made a mistake, and he was the one that was going to pay for it.

It was the weight of that realization that finally overcame her, making her curl over the duvet on their bed, holding Cullen's shirt closely and weeping the last tears she had left against an article that smelled so much of him that his scent only tightened the iron grip on her heart.

Morning had found her in the same exact spot where she had lost consciousness. Cold from the early autumn breeze had crawled through the ajar door of her balcony, intensifying that hopelessness and solitude she had felt and feeding the nightmares where Cullen had turned his back on her. His words and gestures had echoed another rejection of her past, the Cullen of her dreams mimicking that fateful day in the Chantry's courtyard, where her illusions had crashed when the same lips that had professed endless and undying love had dismissed her without so much as a second glance. The fear had always been there, hiding in the dark, waiting to pounce on her the moment her relationship stumbled, but it had somehow ignored the first time she and Cullen had distanced themselves from one another, making her think she had overcome those insecurities. Yet that night, in the solitude of a room that felt immense without Cullen at her side, the same fears had come back to sink poisonous fangs into her mind, making her doubt even the things she had thought certain.

And the fact that Cullen had answered so unusually when she said she loved him the day before only served as fodder for the insidious voice in her mind, reminding her of that painful truth right before the Fade took her completely into its unyielding arms.

The consequences of that relentlessly anguishing night had reflected in her red rimmed eyes when their glances met, those exhausting hours making her unable to hide it even from the man she desired to conceal it from the most.

And his eyes... Maker, his eyes... He'd looked...

Evey shook her head again. She had just reached the top of the stairs and had her desk in sight now. She couldn't fall back to what Cullen's eyes had done to her, how she had felt every single nerve on her body tingle when her name had slipped past his lips. _No_. It had been enough. She needed to keep her mind off those feelings. With any luck, it would keep her from the fears that accompanied them as well.

She pulled out her chair and looked down at the desk, for once sighing in relief. Evey had never felt more grateful for a pile of reports waiting for her to keep her occupied.

So, the hours slipped by in a frenzy of work, the occasional servant bringing her meals. Some of her friends even visited to try and distract her from repeating the seclusion she'd forced upon herself after Adamant, or the careful facade she'd constructed while Sebastian had visited, despite not knowing exactly what was causing it.

Still, though all of it helped, nothing drew her mind completely away from the fact that tomorrow she would assemble the War Council to deliver the last intel needed to confront and, with the Maker's blessing, defeat Corypheus. And her heart refused to let her forget that, without Cullen, she felt as though her world had already been destroyed.

She lost count of how many times she almost dropped everything to find him, but it wasn't until the last drop of coffee hit her throat, making her gag in surprise at just how cold it had become since she drank the last time, that her thoughts overwhelmed her enough to take more than a measured impulse forward… that was lost the second she realized she had moved from her chair.

This was ridiculous. In a few days, she could be dead, struck in the middle of battle by Corypheus, or his dragon, or even her mortal wounds, and yet she was more willing to face all that entailed than stand in front of the man she loved and try to bring some sense to a fight that was wasting the short time they might have left.

Once she left her room, each step seemed easier, her determination growing even as her heart raced furiously as the distance to his office grew shorter.

oOo

It was late at night, a few hours after the dinner he had missed. A meal that, according to rumor, Evey had skipped, too.

He had wanted to go to her, had walked the Main Hall countless times, only to change his path at the last second, trailing back to the rotunda, the undercroft, or even Josephine's office and making up some flimsy excuse about tomorrow morning's War Council and how much she knew about what Morrigan and Evey had found out. He barely heard Josephine's answer. He didn't care really; there would be plenty of time to worry about that, later. Duty, as always, would clear a path through his life, forcefully pushing everything else aside, no matter how important it was for him. And he could do nothing to stop the reality they lived from making him push even Evey aside.

Despite the fact that he was mere hours away from being forced to concentrate on something else besides the relationship that he feared he'd brought to ruins, his heart still guided him, making him roam the fortress aimlessly, searching for what he knew lied locked inside the Inquisitor's tower.

If only he could gather the courage to face it, or at least think of what to say once he faced her.

He had hurt her, had let his demons take control of him, once again making him act without thinking, speak without considering those words would hurt her even more than any direct attack.

He didn't deserve her. A better man would simply walk away, maybe even write to Sebastian and beg him to come back to Skyhold to claim what by all rights should have been his from the beginning.

But he couldn't. And not just because she would never forgive him for assuming he could have any say on such important matters of the heart. Though if he thought about it carefully, Sebastian had done something similar when she rejected him, and she hadn't thought less of the Prince for it. The choice of taking Cullen back had, after all, been ultimately hers.

No, it was something else that stayed his hand. A private, selfish reason.

It was the paralyzing dread that seized his heart at the mere idea of her in another's man arms, moving on from what they had and building a life with anyone that wasn't him. It was an oppressive sensation that fed an uncontrollable fury… which he knew he was not entitled to feel.

Sebastian was a caring man, a Prince, a pious former Brother that could give her both physical and spiritual comfort. A man that could provide her with things that Cullen wouldn't be able to give her even in several lives of hard work and peaceful contemplation. And he had cared deeply for her. Maybe it hadn't been love, but the seeds had been there. Cullen had recognized them because he had seen them in his own eyes every morning from the day he had met her until the day he allowed that feeling to flourish and those three words were exchanged in the privacy of his room.

 _I love you. You know that, right?_

He knew, and he had abused that love until he'd crushed her heart with words she didn't deserve. And now he didn't know how to ask for her forgiveness. Or if he was even worthy of it. Of her.

This time, when he reached the Main Hall, his feet took him to the garden.

It was a lovely night, but Cullen's dark thoughts clouded even the beauty surrounding him, not even the calming, sweet aroma of the Crystal Grace managed to settle the dust in his mind. When he opened the door to the small chapel, Andraste witnessed how a tortured man pushed his way into her sanctum with one hand, while the other held a black chess piece of the queen tucked safely into a woman's embroidered handkerchief.

Cullen walked slowly toward the altar, looking up at the Prophet's cold, stony eyes until he stepped so close that the angle made it impossible for him to keep eye contact. It was then that he fell to the floor, overwhelmed by the turbulence on his mind.

He was selfish, he knew that. He toyed with the idea of letting her go to quiet the voice inside his head that accused him of being undeserving of such a woman, but he knew he could never leave her, could never step aside now that he had known what it felt to love her. To be loved by her.

Time was gaining on them. After what happened in Mythal's Temple, the peace they were experiencing now was nothing but a false illusion that served no other purpose than to make them naively trust there was time to tilt the balance in their favor. To increase their already short chances of success. To make him believe he had time to dwell on his dilemma, that each second wasted didn't mean it was one more that he would regret should he die in a few days…

Should _she_ die.

He had entered there, hoping to find in his prayers the answer he couldn't see from logical thinking. Subconsciously seeking council in the Maker's Bride, he had come to her feet expecting her to either give him the strength to face Evey and beg for her forgiveness, or the will to step back and allow her to find happiness elsewhere.

But then, almost as if Andraste herself had cleansed his mind of all doubt and fear, he suddenly realized there was something more pressing than that, more urgent than the agonizing ache that would come from seeing her walking away from him.

The end was near, and the idea of losing her in battle suddenly hit him with the full strength of an inescapable possibility.

And then there were no doubts, no fears or insecurities. No Sebastian or senses of unworthiness. No chances of letting her go or plea to take him back.

There, kneeling in front of a figure whose eyes now seemed to bore holes in the back of his neck, Cullen prayed for the only thing that mattered, the thing which frightened him most in this world at the mere thought.

He prayed that she might live.

His own pleading voice filled his mind so completely that at first he didn't hear the steps slowly making their way to where he was, the prayer slipping past the lump in his throat with the fervor of a man that needed to believe his god was listening.

-Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's light and nothing that He had wrought shall be lost.

-A prayer for you?

Evey's voice echoed in the small chamber as the sound of her steps finally became evident to Cullen.

When he answered, his voice didn't betray the summersault of his heart at hearing her speaking so softly, almost as if she had already decided to leave the pain behind, answering to another of his prayers as if Andraste herself had advocated to her in his favor.

He tightened the hold over his own hand, held in front of his chest in supplication. Though the fur of his cloak hid her from sight, he still turned his head in acknowledgement, feeling his heart race as she grew closer.

-For those we have lost.- He lowered his hands and his eyes followed them. His head hung and shook in defeat, knowing the next words needed to be said, even if they inevitably came in a softer tone, his heart heavy with dread as he voiced his fears. -And those I am afraid to lose.

-You're afraid…?

Her question seemed cautious, her words tentative in a way that revealed she was distrustful of her instincts. Seeing her hesitate at the obvious meaning behind his fear, aware that he had planted that doubt, Cullen tightened his grip further. He needed to look at her, to show her the true depths of his pain in his eyes, to let her know once again that the one thing he feared beyond anything was losing her. But no matter how far he searched for them, he couldn't find the words to begin the unending list of wishes and desires that still burned deep within his heart, all the illusions and hopes that no ghost from his past could even dare to compare.

When the strength to answer finally bloomed inside him, it came from the part of him that was the Commander of the Inquisition forces. The military leader stepped forward to give the broken and fearful man who in that moment was Cullen, time to softly let the real reasons for his fervent prayers slip past the hard facade that protected him.

-Of course I am! Corypheus possessed that Grey Warden at Mythal. What more is he capable of?

He could hear her fidgeting behind him, trying to assess if her question, or her presence, had been unwelcome.

-It's only a matter of time before he retaliates,- he added, raising his face in a silent prayer to Andraste to ask for the strength to bare his heart even as his knee pushed him up. -We must draw strength wherever we can.

With the last part, he turned, and the look in her eyes almost took his breath away. There she was, as open and sincere as ever, her pain and love shining there for him to see. But even though the red rimmed consequence of a long cry was still there, and the dark circles that exhaustion had left had not yet faded, it was the lack of recrimination that stuck him right in his heart, making it leap in his chest, demanding to reach for her until he could feel her own beating strongly against him.

Unable to stand that sight any longer, he took a few steps forward. His eyes focused on the floor ahead in order to free the lump from his throat that threatened to keep him from telling her what his heart was furiously screaming with its unrelenting race.

-When the time comes, you will be thrown into his path, again.- His voice faltered with the last word, yet he kept going, his eyes lost on the floor while he whispered his greatest burden. -Andraste preserve me, I must send you to him.

Silence hung ominously in the air, his eyes closing tightly as if he were trying to shut off the voices in his mind that fed on his worries.

It felt longer than it really was, both their fears and troubled minds turning the moment into an almost palpable barrier that they were wary to break.

In those unending seconds, Cullen heard nothing more than the frantic beating of his heart. His mind had searched fiercely for a way to express what he felt, and in its desperation, he had found no better option than to confess what truly weighed on his heart.

In the end, what had set him off hadn't been the deranged memories of the tortures suffered in Kinloch Hold, or the fallout of the Order as the Red Lyrium poisoned Meredith's mind with doubt and suspicion. It hadn't been the family he had left behind to serve the Maker, or the torments of lyrium withdrawal. It hadn't been Samson's pernicious words that aimed to shake his faith in the Chantry and himself. Nor the relative success the General had had since Evey delivered him into Cullen's care.

In the end, and under Andraste's compassionate gaze, it had all come to the sinister prospect of sending her to face Corypheus, and the unnerving and incapacitating fear of losing her.

As if the mere force of the fears rising in his mind as he contemplated that dreadful notion had traveled to where she stood at his side, her voice also reached him… with a hint of desperation.

-What if I can't...- Her eyes searched the same spot on the floor where his eyes had rested not so long ago, even as his own opened to focus on her. -Cullen, if I don't...

Her hands were fisted on her sides, her eyes frantically avoiding him as he turned to look at her.

Cullen took her chin with his hand, softly turning her head until she looked back at him again.

And then the dam broke, a protective shield crafted from years of carefully cultivated self presentation dropping. The same defensive walls that Cullen had built to keep him from falling into the pit of despair, from memories that Samson had stirred with his presence and his words, broke into million pieces, allowing Evey to see the rawness of his desperation.

-Maker, no…

Those two ragged words carried such agony from that sole prospect that their bodies acted on themselves, throwing them forward into a sweet, desperate embrace, filling the void that had opened the moment they walked away from one another just days ago. Two words that quietly reminded them of how intrinsically fragile their lives were, and how little time they might have left.

Feeling that voice gain purchase inside of him and fuel the anxiety he barely had under control already, Cullen whispered, not entirely sure whether he was trying to reassure her… or himself.

-Whatever happens, you _will_ come back.- He buried his face in her shoulder, his brow furrowing in a desperate attempt to kill that idea completely. His lungs filled with the scent of sweet jasmine that he had missed so deeply, and that never failed to make him feel at home.

Believing that he was trying to be strong for them both, Evey buried her face in the mane of his cloak.

-Cullen, you don't have to...

He interrupted her before she could finish, not wanting to hear her say something that might break what little trust he had in that moment.

-Allow me this.

She tried to look at him, but felt a hand pressing between her shoulder blades while the other did the same to her lower back, pulling her tightly against him as if he feared she would walk away again.

She turned her head to see him, but he was already lowering his forehead again, his lips whispering on her shoulder as he closed his eyes.

-To believe anything else would...- He took a ragged breath, tilting his head until his lips caressed below her ear, and his voice faltered, the words coming out almost in a desperate whisper. -I can't.

He paused, his arms tightening again after his grasp slackened slightly. Then he raised his head from her shoulder and looked at her, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

-The thought of losing you...- he said between his teeth, clenching his jaw in an attempt to contain the tears, one slipping despite his efforts. -I thought I lost you so many times.- He leaned slightly, giving her time to retreat if she wanted to, longing to kiss her, but knowing that it might be too soon for that. -Too many to my own stupidity.

He closed his eyes, the remaining tears falling from his lashes and down his face. So when her lips reached him, he let go the air trapped in his lungs in a choked sound that was lost in a desperate kiss.

It felt as if their souls were finally back in their bodies, and in a way, that was precisely the case. It had only been two days, but it had felt like an eternity trapped in an endless void where nothing felt the same. Light had appeared duller, colors opaque, the laughter around them empty and almost derisive. The short moments of warmth in the mornings that were already leaving behind the last traces of summer had seemed to never reach their bones, leaving them as cold and bereft as the cruelest winter would. And even the most exquisite delicacies made from the most expert of hands had tasted like ashes in mouths that wanted nothing more than to feel the other's lips.

Now, all those feelings had come back tenfold, flooding them with all the joy and meaning that only the other could bring to their lives.

It urged Cullen to tighten his hold on her, and Evey to melt in his arms as she had yearned for each second of the day since he had raised those barriers which had kept her from touching a heart that had never stopped beating for her.

There, with her in his arms, there was nothing wrong with the world. There was no past, no matter how tortuous, that could reopen the chasm his troubled mind had created two days ago, one that her mouth had sealed in a single brush of her lips.

But it wasn't enough. For Cullen, his kiss, no matter how passionate, could never explain how empty his life had felt during those days, nor how fervently he wanted to go back in time and erase any pain he might have caused her.

No. Words had hurt her, and only words could fix that.

But thinking about pulling apart and doing it were two different things, and regardless of how he tried, the second their lips parted, his resolve would break and he would breathe deep, plunging back again if only to hear her whimper with delight.

It was a battle that, for a while, he thought he would never be able to win, her lips just too tempting to abandon after two days of doing nothing but missing them.

And when he finally gathered the will to stave off the excess of desire for what he hoped would be a night to themselves, Cullen placed his hands on her shoulders, keeping Evelyn at a prudent distance which, with any luck, would dissuade him from caving to the siren call of her kiss.

Since his rejection was too clear in both their minds, the moment their eyes met, he rushed to speak before she could interpret this necessary pause as another rebuff.

-Evey,- he raised a hand to her cheek, caressing it lovingly and feeling his heart leap in his chest when she leaned toward his touch, -the things I said... what I...

-Cullen, don't...

She knew where those words would lead him, and her brow furrowed at seeing him suffer with the weight of his guilt. But even if her compassion could only make him love her more, it also showed him how necessary was to make her understand what he felt in that moment.

-No, please.- His eyes were so plaintive that she couldn't help but allow him this. -I was... overwhelmed by the situation. By what Samson's words and presence made me feel. It was pushing me back to my old self, something that I swore I'd never allow myself to do again.- He shook his head, letting his arms fall to his sides. -I shouldn't have taken my frustration out on you and...

He breathed deeply. He had practiced this much better in his head. It wasn't as if this was the first time that this had happened in her presence, but communicating his emotions correctly was so important that it made his awkwardness even more frustrating.

Once again, she became his remedy, for it was the soft touch of her hands reaching for his and entwining their fingers together which made him find the correct words.

-What I mean is,- he looked at her and she saw his soul lying just behind his honeyed eyes. -Nothing is worth losing you.

Evey let out a deep sigh, as if she could push away every single second of heartbreak and doubt from the last two days with a breath, forgetting all the tears and fears with that simple act. But it was her smile, the one that shone with all her love for him, that almost disarmed Cullen.

That is, until she spoke.

-You're _never_ going to lose me.

In his kiss, Cullen placed the most fervent prayer of his life, urging Andraste to witness and hear him beg Her for just one last thing.

 _Please, let her be right!_

But the prophet was quickly forgotten, even if his prayer was not, constantly echoing in his mind in tune with all the loving words he couldn't bring himself to say in that moment, because after what she had said, Cullen felt there was nothing in Thedas that could stop him from kissing the woman he revered.

Endless minutes passed by wherein no eyes but Andraste's were open to the world. For Evey and Cullen, there was nothing else but they two, the time they had lost, and the urgent need to make up for those wasted moments.

Hands unsuccessfully searched for a way into tight clothes or unrelenting armor as lips trailed a path down a feminine neck while her mouth opened in a blissful sigh that ended in his name. Bodies tried to break a barrier that was getting dangerously close to being discarded as their passions raised.

It wasn't until one of his hands managed to crawl below her leather top, caressing her lower back, that Evey didn't push back, the remnants of a delightful shiver running down her spine and toward Cullen's eager fingers.

The way she looked at him, gasping in a desperate attempt to bring air back to her lungs, eyes clouded with lust, a faint blush painting her cheeks in perfect harmony with red, inviting lips, made Cullen tighten his hold on her, breath faltering with the pressure of his expectation.

-Cullen,- she said as the sound of his name on her lips defied his resolve, tempting him with the feel of her mouth against his once again. But then she was speaking again, and Cullen's heart almost gave in under the stirrings she provoked in him with five simple words: -Take me to _our_ room.

There wasn't a single trace of doubt in her eyes, shining with both emotion and desire alike, mirroring Cullen's perfectly and rendering any response unnecessary.

It was that same look, that silent need, that pushed them into action and toward their room without another word, hands entwined and thumbs brushing the back of each other's hands, as if they were physically unable to not keep at least that small connection between them as they traversed the garden and main hall to the Inquisitor's tower.

The moment the door closed behind them, Cullen used that connection to pull her against him, kissing her as he would rather have not stopped doing on the way, night owl nobles be damned. Still, there was no denying the perks of privacy, since the kiss was allowed to quickly evolve into more within their room. His hands rose from her waist, one planting itself behind her neck and keeping her close to him as he kissed her passionately, the other pressing her lower back to draw her nearer, only to trail lower still after she willingly arched against him.

Desire was rising uncontrollably, but there were still too many barriers separating themselves from one another. Lost almost completely in the mist of his hunger for her, Cullen's mind played with the idea of taking her there and then, pulling back only for the brief time it would have taken him to untie his trouser laces and rid her of enough garments to give them both the release they were craving.

The idea wasn't a new concept for them. They had experienced nights where instincts had overruled all logic and practicality and pushed them into an almost ravenous thirst for the other, making them clash in the most unlikely places, not even caring for the logistics until after they met their needs. In contrast, there had been other nights when they had enjoyed the rare gift of time and had made the best of it by dedicating countless hours to exploring each other's bodies thoroughly, lost in an unending, yet leisurely, love making that took them to unimaginable heights where nothing else existed but themselves.

Cullen found himself unable to decide which one of those routes to take. The desire was there, the unrestrained need to sate their endless appetites, demanding that they drown themselves in one another until they felt the crashing waves of bliss giving them something akin to the respite they knew they could only find in each other. But the feelings that recent events had awakened, the undeniable threat looming over them, and the harsh perspective they had gained that last lonely night called for a new level of tenderness that could only be achieved by restraining that raw desire.

This could very well be one of their lasts nights together. Desperate and hurried fumbling was not what Cullen wanted her to remember him by, should the Maker call him to His side or, Andraste forbid, she was taken from his.

What he felt for her exceeded all other sensations, his need for her permeating every aspect of his life, making her an element as essential to his existence as the air he breathed. This feeling would follow him beyond his last dying breath, and if the Maker decided that their time were to come, he would at least depart from this world making this night as undying as his love for her.

Pulling away from her wasn't easy, especially as she began to blindly search for the clasps of his armor to finally reach the skin she so longed to touch. Each look, each breath and sound coming from her, each pressing of her body against him made Cullen waver, but the urgent need to take his time with her, of leaving no inch of her body unexplored, gave him the strength to pause.

Catching both her hands, he raised them to his mouth, caressing her fingers with his lips briefly as his eyes made the promise of releasing her after she followed the steps he was already taking, bringing her upstairs with him.

Evey followed almost meekly, the initial surge decreasing even though the desire was still there, filling them with an almost physical need to let the hours pass in an undistinguishable rush of pleasure. Still, the break was enough to give Cullen a more manageable level of want, offering him the opportunity to take the initiative and guide her until they were both standing in the middle of the room.

Slowly, he raised his hand to her cheek, his fingers caressing the back of her neck as his thumb outlined her lower lip, enjoying the way her eyes closed and her head fell slightly back, letting out a sigh that spoke of her need for him better than any language could.

After a while, he buried his fingers in her hair, slowly and carefully maneuvering them out of her bun until golden tresses cascaded over his hands. He loved how that looked, how its silkiness would caress his palms as he let the strands slide down. Without realizing, he brushed her hair over her shoulder and leaned forward, breathing her intoxicating scent.

From there, it was easy to find his way to her skin, letting her hair loose in favor of taking the edge of her ear between his teeth. He let his fingertips follow the column of her neck in a descending path, tracing the edges of her collar until he reached the first button of her uniform.

Her head turned slightly, eyes searching for his as he pulled back, a question clear on his expression as he began to unbutton, finding an answer in the way her own hands reached for the clasps of his armor, her need to feel him without any barriers echoing his own wishes as if they came from the same mind.

It wasn't, by any means, the first time they had undressed each other. And yet this time it seemed especially intimate, as if they were doing it for the first time, but with the ease and experience of countless nights together.

The hungry, yet loving care she took to unbuckle his armor overwhelmed Cullen so thoroughly that his hands fell to her waist, waiting until she had removed all the metal components of his armor up to his vambraces. When the last buckle was undone and his forearms were free of their confines, nothing but clothes separated them, Cullen's hands drifted back up, loosening the buttons of her uniform until the fabric gave way to her ivory, scarred skin.

She was focused on untying his arming doublet when he gasped at the sight unfolding before him. Over time, he had discerned that she rarely wore a breastband below her uniform, a fact that had distracted him on far too many occasions during their War Councils. The leather was too constrictive to allow anything between her body and the garment, and soon he had discovered that their first night had been one of the few times she had covered herself under the outfit. He didn't know why he had expected it to be different today. Perhaps it was that "first time" sensation he had been feeling since they began to undress themselves. Maybe it was his mind making parallels between that night that seemed so long ago and what could very well be their last. No matter what it was, the discovery of nothing but her skin below the light leather caught his breath in his lungs, urging him to push the fabric aside until he was able to scour the now familiar scars with ravenous eyes.

That blissful sight was interrupted all of a sudden by his own gambeson being pushed over his head, along with the undershirt he wore beneath it, as her hands traveled over his skin for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

The arming doublet joined his armor on the floor, leaving his chest bare even as hers was still framed by her opened uniform, something that Cullen had to remedy immediately.

He leaned forward and began trailing soft kisses down her collarbone, his hands slowly pushing the garment from her shoulders, letting it fall and allowing him to grasp her back with sprawled hands as his mouth climbed across her neck to her jaw, finally arriving at her lips.

One step forward, and they were flushed against each other, lost in a deep embrace that lit a fire inside them at the feeling of skin against skin. It was almost inevitable then, that the moment Evey pressed herself tightly against him and he felt her breasts crushed by the hard planes of his chest, some of the careful control they were maintaining would slip, sending them into a desperate quest where a small, nearly chaste kiss quickly evolved into a ravenous exploration that threatened to throw all his previous plans into chaos.

The situation seemed to become more desperate when Evey wrapped a leg around his waist, teasing each other with the promise of more, so close now that they pushed forward uncontrollably. Despite his intentions, Cullen couldn't stifle the hungry growl that slipped past his lips, breaking their kiss only momentarily. His eyes searched for hers with raw need as his hands took her thighs to lift her from the floor. She understood immediately, and the other leg surrounded him almost instantly, her feet crossed at the ankles and bringing such friction that they both gasped abruptly, their bodies alternating between slight relief at the renewed contact and the unrestrained covetousness of wanting more.

As his hands traversed naturally to her backside, Evey's travelled down his shoulder blades, using her purchase on him to move in a way that sent Cullen's mind wild.

He held her tightly and walked blindly forward, dedicating only a fraction of his attention to his advance as her lips traced a direct path to his ear, nibbling the lobe teasingly while her hips moved in that relentlessly delicious way. His own hands encouraged every thrust by tightening his grasp on her, assisting her to keep a steady, yet maddening pace.

His knees finally hit the bed and he shifted to move her with care over the sheets, following closely behind so as not to break contact, which Evey was bent on preventing anyway, if the way she clung to him was any indication. Cullen had no intention of pulling back and instead brought her comfortably over his lap, a hand tracing up the curve of her waist until it rested just below her breast.

He parted his legs enough for her to loosen her grasp on him slowly but surely, her feet resting at his sides as she sat over his thighs. Surrendering herself completely to his whims, Evey let him go until she laid her back entirely in the bed, her hands sliding from his shoulders and down his chest until only the tips of her fingers brushed his skin faintly, a tingle rushing down his body until she rested them below the waistline of his trousers. She had given Cullen a perfect view, her chest rising and falling with her intense breathing and his body demanding the pleasures he knew lay hidden beneath what clothes still remained.

The kissing started again and Evelyn moaned against his mouth as he moved over her, his arousal pressed against her while his hips picked up where they had left off. The fabric between them did little to prevent her from feeling and acting as though none existed at all.

Her gasp interrupted their kiss, freeing Cullen to roam soft lips over her jaw until she could hear his heavy breaths up close, his face so near to her shoulder. It was infuriatingly wonderful, each thrust pushing her higher and yet not high enough, only the constant, sweet torment allowing her to climb toward the goal now obvious in each of Cullen's movements.

She called his name, wanting to beg for more, for something that might help her in her ascension, that might shorten that precious journey until she clashed headfirst into the waves of her pleasure. But words eluded her, lips failed her, barely managing to pronounce his name with enough clarity and intention to make him understand the pleas of her body before her actions clarified it all perfectly.

The need to fulfill her request was more intense for Cullen. With each movement that she made to encompass his own, he was further drawn into the impulses of her desire, threatening to take him with her as she teetered on the edge of bliss. Although Cullen craved that feeling just as much if not more, the plans developing in his mind required that, at least for now, he only watch her squirm with delight at his touch, taking no more part in it than the utter satisfaction of knowing he had brought her to such heights.

Dangerously playing with the reins of his restraint, Cullen sat back to allow his hands to explore her, reaching for places he knew all too well by now, but still marveled at how receptive she was to the slightest touch or the faintest brush of his lips.

As she neared that pivotal moment, Cullen sat back a little more, deciding to defy the limits of his endurance by watching her cross it. Her eyes closed tight as her body convulsed below him, and he growled low as he felt his own pleasure grow dangerously close to the edge just by watching her ride the shockwaves.

In the time that it took her to calm her heart and recover her breath, Cullen remained a silent and marveled witness, enjoying every residual twitch of her body, every fine hair raised on her skin when goose bumps traveled over her... every small, pleased whimper as she lowered her head once again, while her eyes remained closed in the lingering aftermath.

The night was far from over, though. Cullen intended to take his time with her, for as long as they were able, stealing hours in the night where they could just be themselves, and not the public figures everyone expected them to be.

When her breaths became somewhat controllable again, Evey raised a hand to his face, the other to his chest, caressing him leisurely while smiling below him, sated for the moment, but with a small spark of desire still burning inside her eyes that made Cullen's heart skip a beat.

For the umpteenth time, he surprised himself with how deeply he loved her, how easy it had been to incorporate her as something totally vital in his life, a presence that he knew was as essential for him as the blood pulsing through their bodies.

Catching one of her hands in the air before she could lower it completely, he kissed her palm in a devoted gesture, and it wasn't until she saw the faintest green hue briefly light his mouth that she realized his lips were tracing the mark on her left hand. It was a simple act, one that could have held no real meaning, but they both knew that was not the case. Once, in what felt like ages ago, Evey had thought the anchor had torn them apart completely, and that because of it, a future with Cullen was impossible. She had believed he would never see past it or feel completely comfortable with her for as long as she carried the _elvhen_ power within her.

And now, with that simple yet meaningful act, Cullen was proving her wrong one more glorious time.

The liberation she felt when that awful weight she hadn't know she still carried lifted from her shoulders made her gasp and throw her head back, throat bobbing as she swallowed the lump that had lodged there with the emotions he had awakened.

And then his lips were on her wrist, up her forearm, pausing slightly opposite to her elbow, blessing her with open mouth kisses until his tongue teased the soft skin before sliding higher still, abandoning her at the height of her shoulder to turn his head where her lips were already waiting for him to become lost in a fervent kiss.

She could feel his body's warmth hovering close enough to tease her, but not enough to rekindle the flame of her desire too quickly.

Then, her hands followed the path of her hair, resting above her head and over the long waves of honeyed tresses splayed around her. For a second, she thought he would keep her hands there, trapped in a game meant to entice her and infuriate her until she felt need overwhelm her again, making her beg him to grant her the freedom to reciprocate the caresses and kisses that would certainly drive her close to insanity. But as soon as that thought formed in her mind, it was pushed aside when Cullen's fingers slipped from her palms to her arms, reaching the side of her breasts in their descending path, barely brushing his fingertips on her most sensitive parts. Tracing below her breast, his hands followed the outlines of her ribs as they met in the middle, where they descended together until they were splayed on her lower belly.

Cullen's hands were in motion even as they rested in place, his thumbs brushing close to the waist of her pants as her breathing pushed them up and down incessantly in perfect tune with his heart, which still raced with vertigo from what they had just shared.

Contrasting violently with the fire raging inside him, his eyes took their time exploring every inch of her body. From where his hands laid, up her belly and over her scars, briefly detouring to contemplate her bare breasts as they moved to the rhythm of her lungs... Until they finally reached her face.

There was a rapt fascination in the way he looked at her, almost as if he were trying to determine what he had done to be so worthy of her affection. It was a look of incredulity mixed with the most sincere and amazed happiness, tinged with the strongest love she had ever felt.

It were those feelings that filled Cullen's mind with dreams of a future together, that urged him to believe there was far more beyond the Inquisition waiting for them, more beyond the inevitable battle that threatened to take away everything that made his life worth living.

Slowly, he began to caress her belly, to trace the lines of her scars and encompass the movement of her breathing as he imagined the flesh below his hands growing with the promise of new life, swelling with their own creation, a testament of their love in full view of everyone who placed their eyes over her midsection. A baby born from their union, one that he could almost feel moving below his fingers as his hands traveled over her skin.

When his breathing began to falter at the images in his mind, he let his hands slip lower still, reaching her waist where her trousers blocked the access that he craved undeniably.

This time, he didn't raise his eyes looking for permission. The sound of her ragged breathing was enough to let him know her anticipation was building as quickly as his. Even if there was doubt of her unconditional approval, the way she gasped when she felt the ties give way under his fingers would have dispelled any uncertainty he might have felt. He undressed her almost ceremonially, his mind replacing the brown, skintight leather with the delicate white satin of a traditional Fereldan wedding dress, or even an Orlesian bridal lingerie no doubt gifted by Leliana for the happiest day of their lives. He could picture it perfectly: carefully taking her wedding dress off, her left hand reaching to take his clothes too, marveling Cullen with the blessed sight of a single gold wedding band resting on her ring finger, outshining the mark on that hand, the one that demanded from her more than she sometimes was capable of giving. That day, the anchor would be forgotten at the sight of the proof of their union in the eyes of the Maker and the Holy Andraste, its twin resting on Cullen's hand, marking him as hers… as much as she would be his.

She mewled in disappointment when his hands left her pants to travel a descending path to her boots, untying them quickly and easily, boasting the same dexterity he'd acquired through countless nights confronting the exasperating buttons of her uniform. Then, with a patience he thought would have been exhausted by that time, he slowly traced up the length of her legs until he managed to hook his thumbs below the waist of her trousers, kneeling in bed over her to slide them off.

After he threw them carelessly behind him and reached up again to send her smallclothes to join the discarded trousers, his throat constricted at the sight in front of him.

In the short seconds before she left her passive role, he devoured her with his eyes, committing every detail to memory, willing his mind to hold onto this image for as long as he drew breath, no matter how little time that ended up being.

To his utter bliss, while he was still dedicated to that task, she closed the distance between them, softly brushing her hands over his stomach, the lines of his abdomen, and below the harsh vee on his hips. Just a couple of rushed heartbeats later, Cullen felt her hand tighten around him, making him gasp and throw his head back, all fantasies momentarily forgotten under her maddening caresses.

He lost notion of time and space, wanting to pull back to grant her the access they were both craving so desperately, yet unable to will his body to finally rid themselves of all the barriers standing in their way. After just a moment of indulging in her caresses, he pulled away only long enough to finish undressing himself, his body returning to her before the night breeze reached his skin unobstructed.

In what Cullen could only hope would be just one more among a sea of countless moments together, they found each other naked in body and soul, their love as exposed as their skin and at the mercy of each other's eyes, as if they were an open book. That night, protected from everyone else in Thedas, they read each other from beginning to the end, finding the other with hands and lips until, slowly, savoring each sensation as if it were the last, Cullen found his way home again.

There was a gasp from her lips, one that turned into a soft moan as he lowered part of his weight over her, trying to bring her as close as possible, answering to a need that, even as they merged into one, still burned ragingly inside them.

He placed his elbows aside her head, completely cradling her with his body, shielding her from everyone and everything, willing to do whatever it took to keep her away from the rest of the world, denying Thedas the chance to take her lest he lost her forever.

He needed to feel her, to have her safe and alive under his touch, to remind them both what they shared, what they could lose in a heartbeat, what he could protect so long as he kept her there with him, safe with his body covering her completely and shielding her from any force that tried to steal her away.

But he couldn't do that. No matter how much he needed to preserve that moment of perfect union forever in time, both his mind and his body demanded him to let the seconds pass, allowing them to reach the pleasure their joining always brought them.

Her hands surrounded his shoulders and he leaned over her, kissing her deeply as he began to slowly move, dragging the sensations out longer than usual. He carefully guided them both higher, the long road ahead before they reached the summit of their pleasure still too far off to see, but insinuating its presence in each hypnotic movement.

Soon they fell into a teasing pace, which allowed them the time to explore each other without haste, ignoring the pressures of the world outside and the threat looming over them. It was as if they had years to culminate their lovemaking, and the positions they occupied beyond these walls were nothing but wayward specks of dust that drifted outside their windows.

Lost completely in both her and the sensations that overwhelmed him, Cullen's mind began to assault him with images he should have pushed aside in lieu of their precarious situation. And yet, he allowed them to unfold, his deepest desires merging completely in that moment, blending present and future, reality and fantasy in such a way that soon he was trapped in a surge of emotions.

His finger brushed her nipple and she sighed, the sound mimicking the kind she would make as he surprised her while she was lost in her thoughts, looking at the sunset behind a line of trees in the Frostback Basin as they spent a season there, alone, just like she had always wanted to do.

One hand grasped tightly to his, and she was leading him inside her family estate, introducing him to the rest of her family as Caleb grinned at Cullen's nervous stare with a knowing look from behind his older brother's shoulder.

One whispered promise against his lips, and he was entering Lord Trevelyan's study, determined to make his intentions of asking for Evey's hand known to her father, hoping that he would give his blessing.

One slow thrust, and he was sliding a ring on her finger, making her his in the eyes of the Maker.

One hand clawed at his back, and she was delivering their firstborn.

One muffled whimper lost inside a kiss, and they were watching their child grow, the promise of another life secretly blossoming inside her belly.

One last cry of pleasure, and they were growing old together, their love becoming stronger with the years even as their bodies began to feel the passing of time.

A tear slid down his cheek, lost in her hair as they fought to catch their breath, and he prayed the Maker to give them the chance to have such a life together.

He allowed himself only a short moment for his muscles to stop trembling, the intensity of the aftermath of his pleasure still coursing through his body, before he began to move with the intention of freeing her from the pressure of his weight resting on top of her.

But even before the breeze could slip between their bodies, she surrounded him with her arms, pulling him tightly against her and forcing him to lie completely over her.

-Please, not yet,- she begged gently.

He heard the last word falter even as she buried her face in his curls, as if she were on the verge of tears. A lump immediately lodged in his throat, the emotion behind her voice reminding him of all his fears. And then, as he watched her below him, their bodies still joined, he understood.

The moment he left the sanctuary of her body, reality would cave in on them. Not even the short respite of the few hours left before sunrise, or the possibility of finding themselves in the middle of the night as they usually did, was tempting enough to risk severing that connection.

What they had was too precious to be pushed aside so thoughtlessly. Their love was something they had always held dear in their hearts, so it felt natural to enjoy their physical connection for longer than usual, too. The tie joining them was never severed… not really, at least. They had been through rough times, and it was impossible to think, Maker forbid, that they wouldn't live to see and surpass more in the future. But even in the crudest of those moments, what they felt for one another had never been in doubt. Not truly. Not in their heart of hearts. Insecurities might have overshadowed logic from time to time, making them doubt the other's affection, but their own, the rhythm with which their hearts beat, had never been unsure. They belonged to one other, and Evey's request only reflected that more clearly.

Still, the shadow that had loomed over Cullen's mind for days came back in a rush as he felt her warmth reach him just where his body was starting to chill. The treacherous image of her in his arms, cold as ice while he carried her through the snow to the mountain camp after she had collapsed in front of him after escaping Haven, came back suddenly, making him shiver in her arms. This time, there was no soft breath, no promise of the flame of life waiting to be fanned into the raging fire they had known to be her. This time, in his mind, she was dead weight in his arms, cold from more than the blizzard, the distinct hand of death hollowing her unresponsive body to his desperate supplication. And then, a river of warmth ran down his chest, clad not in armor, but in naught but a thin white tunic… now tinged red with her blood.

Unable to stand the torture his mind was putting him through, he raised his face from where it laid hidden in her hair over her shoulder, and looked at her with an urgency that trapped the air inside her lungs. He took her cheeks in his hands, his elbows holding his weight off as he looked at her pleadingly.

-Promise me...- he begged through his hoarseness, and she was already nodding vigorously despite not knowing what he would ask of her, feeling his pain as thoroughly as though a dagger were opening its way to her heart. -Promise me you'll come back to me. Promise me we'll still have time.

No words would, nor could, seal that promise. Only tears slid down their cheeks in the silence, hers flowing freely while he held his own back to be strong for her, fearing that letting go would insinuate that he was giving up hope.

Instead, only caresses and whispers could make sense of the frantic beating of their hearts, their pace a new and exotic language just they could understand as love translated the vows they found themselves unable to voice, their mouths trapped forever in deep, comforting kisses…


	69. Chapter 69

Chapter 69: Doom Upon Us All

-I can match the darkspawn magister's dragon, yes. As for matching Corypheus... _that_ is up to you, Inquisitor.

Morrigan's words felt like the weight of all the shields in the army falling over Cullen's chest all at once.

He'd never despised the witch. Perhaps in the past, he would have, but the man that Cullen was today, though still cautious, reserved his judgment of people's character until _after_ a moment where action, and not appearances or rumors, could drive his opinion.

Since her arrival at Skyhold, he hadn't particularly spent time with her, let alone cultivated a friendship, but save for a few details like the potentially open path to the heart of the fortress in the shape of the Eluvian that she had installed, Morrigan's presence had proven useful. If for nothing else, he at least was grateful that it had been her and not Evey to be the one who drank from the Well of Sorrows, even if they had thought Mythal dead, if not only legend, when they'd been forced to make that decision.

But now, after that all too casual assessment of a situation which, although correct, shook him to his very core, he was reconsidering his opinion on the witch.

He couldn't deny her words. They all knew that with the anchor irreversibly linked to her hand, only Evey could match Corypheus, but that didn't mean he had to like the idea, or that she should go it alone, as the witch's words seemed to imply.

Evey, by contrast, didn't even flinch. She merely assumed the responsibility as if the task was solely hers, as if the idea of facing Corypheus alone was not quite that delusional. She was in charge once again, and Cullen couldn't help but wince as the perfect image made that morning dissolved behind the Inquisitor's facade.

She had looked so peaceful when he'd opened his eyes to find her looking at him. So strong and sure while she tried to hide the part of her that feared to even utter a word, lest they allowed the outside world to enter their paradise, breaking the illusion that they had created together the night before. They had beaten the sun itself in their early awakening, the night still present outside, the morning a good hour away from tinting the sky with its clarity. So, they used that time to make love once again, savoring each feeling and willing their bodies to remember each sensation as clearly as it maintained the steady beat of their hearts, for those memories infused as much life in them as the blood pumping through their veins.

Sunrise had found them together in the bathtub, the water cold from the night before when Evey's plans of a late bath had escaped her mind as Cullen flooded her with kisses and caresses. It had been months since Josephine had requested Dagna to install the same heating runes used in the public baths for the Inquisitor's private use, but that morning they completely ignored the useful feature, not even noticing the cold temperature of the water as they sunk together in the tub. For them, it was seething, just as they felt in that moment. They were warm with each other's love, and burning with a desperate need to believe they would experience endless moments like those. Now that they knew how to defeat Corypheus, they would succeed in their mission and leave that past behind to live as normal a life as they could in their position.

It had been with those thoughts in his mind that Cullen had broken the silence, only to fear he had awakened her from a deep slumber when she shifted in his arms.

-Do you ever wonder what would have happened if you had not been at the Conclave? If you'd never become the Inquisitor?

If she had been asleep, she wasn't anymore. She had covered the arms that surrounded her waist with her own, tightening her hold on him and strengthening his at the same time. The morning light had painted the room red, and she had to push away the intrusive thought of that same color tainting their immediate future, taking the lives of many around them, or separating them altogether. It was a future she hadn't wanted to consider.

-A life without you? Never.

He hadn't been sure why, perhaps it was the perfection of that moment, but her effusiveness had made him chuckle, to which she answered, turning in the tub to look straight at him.

-I mean it.- There had not been a trace of doubt, or tiredness for that matter, in her face, and Cullen's laugh had immediately been replaced by a sudden tenderness which struck him so strongly that he'd failed to answer before she kept going. -Becoming the Inquisitor was the greatest thing that ever happened to me.- She had taken his face between her hands. -It brought me to you, and I could never wish for anything different.- Her eyes had followed his every feature, as if she were looking at him for the first time, taking in all the details that she never wanted to lose. -I've felt happier this past year than ever in my life. I know I don't always make the right decisions...

He hadn't let her finish. He couldn't. Whichever "but" she had been about to add had no place in their conversation or in his heart. He'd kissed her languidly, tasting her lips as if they held the very reason of his existence, until he had felt nothing but her filling him completely.

When he had finally let her go, she chuckled.

-I wasn't finished,- she'd said, pushing herself from his chest with her hands and looking at him with amusement.

He wetted his lips while urging his eyes to climb her face from her mouth until he found her eyes again.

-Neither was I,- he had teased, deciding to make good on his words a second later.

Unfortunately, the hours had passed despite their prayers, and before he could close the distance between them, they were interrupted by the bell sounding for breakfast, followed closely by a rap on their door and a servant's voice calling for Evey, no doubt coming to make sure the Inquisitor didn't oversleep during what Josephine insisted on calling "the most vital meal of the day".

From that moment, there had been no denying that the urgency of time had found them again, and soon thereafter, Cullen was forced to kiss Evey goodbye in front of a blushing servant girl before he could make his way to his office to catch up on the previous night's patrol reports and find her again at the main hall to eat together.

All of that now seemed almost surreal to his mind. To think that just a few hours before, he had felt so joyous, and now they were discussing the possibility of marching out to find Corypheus, a suggestion that had come out of _his_ mouth of all people. And Evey was standing before them, listening to her advisors' discussion with cold attention, a calculating look gracing her as she stood tall in the face of what promised to be the most strenuous trial the Inquisition has ever faced.

Her whole posture exuded strength and power, so much so that when the green light filled the room, Cullen didn't even register that it came from behind him and not from the anchor, which was now crackling with a twin hue, the characteristic streams of green lightning jumping from Evey's palm as if the mark was greeting the kindred power seeping through the windowpanes.

For a handful of disturbing seconds, Evey just stood there, looking at her hand with rapt fascination, as if the power sizzling there were new to her and the sensations coursing through her bloodstream were nothing but a momentary, accidental occurrence that would disappear and never come back. It was the flash of stronger green light that tore her eyes from the anchor. Following her gaze, they all turned in time to see the power around them coalescing into the reopened Breach in the sky, as if the swirling vortex was sucking the very essence of their world into the rupture over what once had been the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

Again, it was Morrigan's calm voice that forewarned the inevitable consequence of what they had just witnessed.

-It seems Corypheus is not content to wait.

-He's in the Valley of Sacred Ashes?- asked Evey in puzzlement.

This time, the witch didn't put into words what was ultimately evident to all, and instead decided to highlight a far more worrisome implication.

-You either close the Breach once more, or it swallows the world.

-But that's madness! Wouldn't it kill him as well?

Josephine's observation was one that, in any other circumstance, Cullen would have considered valid and even encouraged to be discussed, but the safety of Corypheus was not exactly among the Commander's top priorities, since there was another fact that had crept up his legs and lodged around his spine with a cold grip that made his skin crawl.

-Inquisitor, we have no forces to send with you... We must wait for them to return from the Arbor Wilds.

He knew his plea was useless, and it was that impotence that gave his words a desperate tone. It was there in Evey's eyes: The decision, the finality of a determination that he had once admired, but that was now wrenching his heart until he felt the blood in his veins curdle. It shone in the way she looked to the horizon, and it was as evident to him as the love he had seen in her eyes that same morning.

-I must go now, before it's too late.- Her voice was calm, her body stood relaxed, as if she were talking about yet another noble demanding ridiculous privileges beyond his station.

Only her frown betrayed her true demeanor, the fear behind her determination not strong enough to break her resolve or sway her mind. Still, that didn't mean Cullen wouldn't try.

-That's suicide! Evey please!- He leaned over the table, trying to reach her even over the heavy obstacle, his voice as desperate as the frantic beating of his terrified heart.

The Inquisitor's frown deepened, her eyes falling to the table where Cullen's sprawled left palm covered Cumberland. The Commander's fingers twitched as if they could feel her eyes on them, while his resolve crumbled with each dragging second until Evey's composed and slow voice reached him again.

-Everyone, please leave us alone. Inform my inner circle: we march for battle in two hours.

All four women ignored Cullen's "No" to her last request, each of them realizing how torn the Commander must have felt in that moment, where he was forced to choose between stopping them from delivering the Inquisitor's message or standing his ground and begging the woman he loved to reconsider this tactic. In the end, though, their empathy was as useless as it was misplaced, since all of them had more important things to do than to feel sorry for Cullen now that the battle against Corypheus was upon them.

It was that knowledge that filled their minds when the three women silently decided to leave the War Room with nothing but the sound of the heavy door closing behind them. After that, the silence lasted for less than a heartbeat, interrupted by Cullen's hurried steps when he rounded the War Table to stand in front of the Inquisitor.

-Evey, I beg you.- He took her by the forearms and turned her toward him. -Wait for the troops. It shouldn't be long before they return.- His hand raised to cup her face, his tone as imploring as the shine of despair in his eyes. -You can't do this. _Please_.

For a short moment, Evey remained impassive, words failing to reach her mouth as her heart nearly lost the battle to remain strong in her conviction in light of Cullen's desolation. She entwined her fingers with the ones still caressing her cheek, closing her eyes and allowing herself a moment to enjoy the touch she feared she may lose all too soon. Then, with a mixture of determination and heartbreaking resignation, she opened her eyes and looked at him with a forced smile.

-Remember what you said to me after Haven?

He frowned, searching his mind for the correct memory, fearful that whatever he had said then, spurred from the raw emotion lingering after Corypheus' first attack all those months ago, would betray him now.

It wasn't long before Evey reminded him.

- _We will not run from here, Inquisitor_ ,- she said, echoing his words from the day she was named their leader. The same day he promised himself he would turn Skyhold into an impenetrable fortress if it meant keeping her safe.

-If I wait here, Corypheus might attack Skyhold.- She left that idea hanging in the air for a while, as if she were waiting for the idea to take root in his mind and force him to see things her way. Then, she slowly turned her head and kissed his palm, closing her fingers around his hand. -It's over, Cullen,- she whispered against his skin, feeling him shudder at the weight of her words. -I must go to him.

-Then I'll go with you.- He leaned forward, searching her eyes until she answered his silent call and turned to look at him with utter, naked fear.

-No!- She lowered her hand, taking his along with hers, not wanting to let go of him even as her words denied that very same action. -A Commander's place is with the army.

He was shaking his head even before she finished the sentence, tightening his grip around her fingers as he raised his other hand to her forearm.

-I have no army now.- He lashed his hand toward the door as if pointing at some invisible target. -And the handful of soldiers left after I arrange Skyhold's defenses are going to march with you to protect you... As am I.- He disentangled his hand from her and raised both to her face, forcing her to look at him as he declared with more conviction than she had ever heard from him before. -You won't win this argument, Evelyn. You might as well kill me. That's the only thing that's going to stop me from going with you.

oOo

Battle was never easy. Even after a year, Evey had never gotten used to killing. It didn't matter that they were enemies, nor did she care that they served Corypheus. The moment her blades buried themselves in the flesh of an attacker, they all looked like what they were, either at their core or on the surface: people. Some were taken by red lyrium. Others still held a trace of their humanity left to be recognizable. There were a few that looked relatively normal, but in the end, they were no more or less than what she was. Another mortal in this world.

Demons were easier. Even though Solas had explained that they were no more than spirits whose purposes had been twisted, she lacked the connection with the Fade and the empathy toward any spirits besides Cole to feel guilty as she slew them.

Her childhood training had proved invaluable when she first faced one of those creatures after she awoke in Haven. Experience and Cullen's instruction had done the rest. But no training, no matter how thorough and meticulous, could have prepared her for what they were now facing.

Corypheus might have been waiting for her, but he was not idle.

The battle had begun even before Evelyn marched out of Skyhold. Ravens had arrived, announcing the enemy lines advancing toward them, forcing them to leave the fortress ahead of time, accompanied only by the small band of soldiers that hadn't been assigned to protect their home.

It wasn't long before the enemy's army had claimed first blood. In fact, the bodies of the soldiers on patrol that day told them the mountain terrain had been painted in their blood long before they walked the drawbridge toward the battlegrounds.

The sound of dozens of boots over the planks felt hollow to her ears, feeding her insecurities, the unrelenting rhythm of their feet echoing the desperate beats of her troubled mind almost as if the dull sound had evoked the timid steps of condemned men walking to the gallows.

She had faith in her people and trust in their training and abilities, but without the comfort of a carefully planned strategy, her mind wandered to the bleakest, darkest corners of her imagination. Only the three members of her inner circle whom she had decided would accompany her to face Corypheus were walking beside her. The rest had left the fortress well before her, taking a small squad to assist them and leaving less than fifty men to march with her.

If she was honest with herself, and her mind wouldn't allow her to be anything _but_ that in that desperate moment, she didn't even know if her friends were still alive. That sinking thought festered inside her, quickly spreading like a taint that threatened to overwhelm her even as she marched on.

And when the feeling became intolerable, when not even the boisterous battle song that the soldiers were chanting to instill confidence and bravery in their hearts were able to soothe the growing unease inside her, Cullen's hand closed around hers.

The contact was like a rain that mercifully fell as a forest was consumed under the unyielding hunger of fire, his fingers tightening around her hand like a balm that calmed her heart, even as it poisoned her with the terrifying realization that she had been unable to stop the person she wanted safe the most from walking beside her toward…

…Toward what could very well be his death…

Together, they were stronger. They had trained for countless hours, and despite not sharing the battlefield as often, they'd proven to be eerily attuned to one another when they had fought side by side, compensating each other's flaws so that nothing could breach their defenses.

But being together also made them weak. It gave them too much to lose if the other should fall. An unavoidable distraction that could easily wind up being their doom in a second, when worry would sidetrack them into making one wrong step, or to doubt longer than necessary before an unforgiving blade would tear them apart forever.

But just as nothing had stopped Telana from waiting for Ameridan as she wandered the Fade, searching for her lover until life slipped through her fingers, no force in Thedas would have convinced Cullen to stay behind. Not even the Maker Himself had the power to tear him from Evey's side, let alone the threat of a magister with delusions of grandeur.

And Andraste knew she was grateful for him. Cullen was everything to her. She was lucky enough to have found a second family in her friends, but to also find him had been beyond her wildest dreams. It had been years since she had given herself over to the quiet life of contemplation expected of her, and no matter how her mother tried to find her a suitor that would both charm her and benefit the estate, with each failed attempt Evelyn had convinced herself time and again that the possibility had slipped through her fingers... or had never existed in the first place. And then, in the most unexpected of places, she had found the man destined for her.

She had told him the truth the night before. All Thedas looked back at the Conclave as a tragedy, a moment they would change if they had the power, and although she too wished hundreds of people hadn't died, she also knew with pristine clarity that she could never find it in her heart to completely regret the path that had led her there... and to him.

Still, love made anyone selfish, and the Inquisitor was no exception. The more she grew attached to her friends, the more she recoiled under the perspective of putting them at risk. And when what she felt for Cullen became impossible to ignore, the only comfort she had found was that his post demanded he stay put in Skyhold, too busy to venture out into the field with her and the inner circle.

Now all their lives were on the line, and her heart and conscience battled as she couldn't help but pray the Maker and His Bride to spare the lives of those she held most dear... especially the one without which her own would lose all meaning.

She raised her eyes from the road and looked at Cullen from the corner of her eyes, feeling the pit in her stomach lurch. It was the same uneasiness she had felt while riding to the siege in the Western Approach, the one that had plagued her as they'd cut their way through enemy lines in the Arbor Wilds. It was the eerily feeling of standing on the precipice of a deep abyss, an invisible force tugging at her ankles, that had taken over her when she saw Cullen fall in the courtyard at the Shrine of Dumat. It was a fear that overwhelmed her to the point where she felt she would do anything to secure Cullen and her friends' lives.

It was a terrible feeling if she analyzed it with a cold mind, one that was supposedly beneath her position as protector of Thedas. But there was one thing that people didn't stop to think about that changed everything. Even if it didn't justify her selfish instinct to protect some over others, at least it was a logical explanation to hang onto in order to quiet the deceitful voice of her guilty conscience.

Beyond what everyone thought of her, beyond the titles and propaganda, beneath the mantle of holiness they had stubbornly placed on her shoulders or the divine connection they associated with her, she was human, and as such, prone selfishness.

Her heart wept for the fallen, and their deaths weighed on her conscience, but she knew that very same heart would shatter if she were to face the loss of one of the people she had come to consider part of her family. And that was without even stopping to consider which dark and forgotten corner of the Void she would fall into if the one lost in battle would be the very same man that now held her hand in reassurance.

Cullen's touch was comforting, but it was also fleeting. Their position riding the uneven terrain of the Frostback Mountains didn't allow them the solace of that contact, and as his fingers slipped from hers, she felt courage flee from her body in a desperate search for the man that had become its constant source of strength... Even more so when they heard a voice desperately yelling orders up ahead.

Without so much as a look to each other, they all charged forward, their eyes scanning the area to find the source of the voice.

It didn't take long before they saw it. Second Lieutenant Hayes and the bulk of their forces (such as they were, considering all but a hundred men were still in the Arbor Wilds) were furiously fighting demons and Red Templars alike, the Knight Captain bloodied and visibly exhausted as she kept a Behemoth at bay, giving their men the opportunity to concentrate on the rest of the enemies.

Amidst that chaos, Cullen's Lieutenant didn't stop relaying orders and reassurances to the men, demanding they hold the line at any cost, and fought for their lives and the lives of those waiting for them at Skyhold.

And each word cut deep to Evelyn's soul, like the red lyrium blade of a Red Templar Shadow, burning her insides as if the poisonous substance were taking hold of her body. Each soldier that fell and never got up was one more life she should carry on her conscience, one more that died under her command, and for her persona.

But even as her mind refused to cease its furious recriminations, her body didn't indulge in the idleness of contemplation, jumping into action even before she had time to think twice.

Cullen, Cassandra, and Blackwall were apparently all of the same mind, and ran at her side with weapons drawn, slashing Red Templars and demons as if there were no difference between them. And there wasn't, not for they who had fought countless of them since all of this began. They were unaffected by the wrights' shrieks or the grotesque spectacle of an envy demon walking toward them in an unnatural pose that made most of the soldiers around them shiver in disgust and fear. For them, it was nothing more than just another fight, one where the stakes were higher, but the process remained the same.

When they managed to clear a path in the enemies' line, Cullen ran toward Hayes, standing in front of her and giving the Second Lieutenant time to gulp the potion he had forced upon her hand. Evey's feet yearned to follow, especially after Cassandra and Blackwall spread out to help the rest of the soldiers and Solas focused on the Fear Demons, whose vulnerability to his particular brand of magic they had discovered long ago. But then a small rift opened in the middle of the battlefield, its magic tugging and angering the anchor on Evey's hand and forcing her to raise it in the air and close the damned thing before the demons that could already be seen trying to enter this world managed to slip through the opening crack in the Veil.

In the time since Solas had raised her hand high to close her first rift, she had learned to read the necessities of the anchor as well as her own body's cravings. Just as she couldn't force herself to remain awake for days on end, she couldn't ask the impossible of the anchor. She wasn't sure exactly what charged the anchor with power, or what made it come to life and demand a release from the prison of her own flesh, but she had learned how to recognize when its power was ready to be set free. She felt it like a tingle, like a need as urgent as the hunger of a body starved of food for far too long, or the burn of a muscle that complained from overuse. But just as a body gave up if one demanded too much of it, falling in exhaustion when its strengths had depleted and refusing to function until it was replenished again, she could not force the anchor to act when it was not ready. In time, she had learned that asking too much of the magic she unwillingly wielded had its price, one that was usually paid for in pain.

So when the desperation coursing through her heart at watching her men be slaughtered pushed her into action without stopping to consider the consequences, the anchor answered in anger, burying its claws in her flesh as if it were a rabid dog, not letting her go until she fell to her knees, hearing more than seeing the rift above her close, as the anchor made her feel as if its power were opening her own rift in the middle of her chest, its serrated fangs tearing her skin like paper.

From the corner of her eyes, she saw Solas' veilstrike fall over the behemoth, buying Cullen and Hayes time to recover and finished the abomination off as the elf ran toward Evelyn, pulling her back on her feet and bathing her in his magic, soothing the burn and allowing her to breath once again.

Without the rift feeding the Red Templar army with new demonic allies, the enemies fell quickly, the Inquisition forces instinctively closing in around her to protect the Inquisitor from any harm, even as everyone but Solas had completely missed her moment of vulnerability a few minutes earlier.

There was a stale smell in the air. The ichor that was the demons' essence mixing with the human blood, the red lyrium's acrid smell combining with the metallic bouquet of the blue version. And over all of them, the characteristic and unmistakable smell of magic.

Countless hours of torture in the halls of Kinloch Hold at the hands of demons had left Cullen with innumerable scars, both physical and mental. Some he had managed to overcome, others he knew he would carry for as long as he lived. One of these such scars was the retching twist in his stomach at the smell of the distinctive residue of a demonic presence.

So, when the adrenaline running through his veins receded and the stagnant stench of demons reached his nostrils, he staggered in his steps, bile raising to his mouth and souring an experience that was, in itself, already hard to swallow.

There hadn't been much time for him to recover, and the same could be said for every single soldier on the field, the Inquisitor included. The anchor was still angry, Solas' magic soothing it somehow, but not able to quiet the residual sting that the rebellious nature of the mark was adamant on maintaining.

Years as a templar and soldier had taught Cullen to distinguish certain residues of magical, the feeling and smell of them so particular that they had etched themselves into his memory to the point where he could discern them even amidst the chaotic assault to the senses that was now the remaining battlefield. And no one, no matter how distinctive, was more iconic than the one of the healing spell that now permeated the Inquisitor.

The moment the last demon was down, he ran toward Evey and took her from Solas' arm, who was trying to keep her steady after the pain in her hand had made her lose footing.

-Are you alright?- he whispered in her ear, burying his nose in her hair for a split second in a momentary indulgence he was aware he should restrain under those circumstances.

Evey nodded, still a little taken aback by the continuous complaints of the restless anchor in her hand. And just as Cullen was about to ask her and Solas about why they had needed to conjure a healing spell, Hayes and the rest of the crew joined them.

-Thank you, your Grace; that was close,- she said, nodding toward Evey and pounding her chest plate in salute, barely acknowledging her superior standing next to the Inquisitor. Whatever obliviousness had taken over Hayes' mind in that moment almost looked akin to the attentiveness of a Grey Warden traversing the Deep Roads in comparison with Evey's level of awareness. In fact, only a small fraction of her mind was registering the Lieutenant's words, leaving the rest of it to survey the battlefield in search of her friends.

Barely two seconds passed between the absent nod she granted Hayes to let her know she was listening to her and the moment where her eyes found the woman again, this time dedicating her full attention to Cullen's Lieutenant.

-Where are the others?

It was a selfish question, but amidst the chaos around them, nobody noticed the fact that Evey was primarily referring to the rest of her inner circle and not the twenty men that were missing from their meager army.

-Your companions took a small group to clear a way to Corypheus after the scouts reported a barricade up ahead.

Before she could comment on anything, Cullen intervened.

-What's the situation now?

The Lieutenant doubted for only a fraction of a second, and yet that pause was long enough to make Evey feel the silence like a weight settling heavy in her stomach.

-We haven't heard from them, yet, sir. I sent Boyd to check on them half an hour ago, but a company of Red Templars approaching down the road forced him back. There haven't been scouts coming from their team either.

Cullen nodded while he watched Evey's reaction out of the corner of his eyes.

For everyone else, the Inquisitor would have looked like the epitome of contemplation, her eyes focused on the horizon as if she were planning the next stage carefully, with coldblooded precision and the necessary detachment to take whatever measures would lead them to victory. But Cullen knew her too well to fall for that farce. He could see her worry in the way her brow twitched imperceptibly, in the tightened muscles of her neck and the clenching jaw, her mind going through their possibilities frantically, as was expected of her, but had fallen victim to her own emotions, nevertheless.

Morale was important, and the men couldn't see the Inquisitor give in to the pressure of the situation. But that didn't mean she wasn't yearning to sprint ahead to help her friends, at the risk of destroying all their hopes by answering to her reckless impulses.

-Take your men and withdraw back to the crevice near the Frostback's main road. It's far enough from Skyhold that the battle won't reach it, but the narrow road will give you the advantage you need should the templars decide to move forward. Place the archers on higher ground, and whatever you do, don't let them reach the fortress.

-There's a healer outpost setting up ten miles south of the Crossroads leading to Skyhold. They have potions and fast horses to reach you if you need them,- Evey added, even then worrying about the safety of her army.

-Thank you, your Grace,- replied Hayes, nodding to Evey and looking briefly to Cullen as she saluted them. -Commander. Maker watch over you both.

 _Maker watch over us all_ , answered Evey's mind even as her lips refused to voice the words to the parting Lieutenant.

Not a second later, the woman's voice could be heard shouting Cullen's instructions to her men, guiding them further into the Frostback Mountains as Evey and her group began their advance in the opposite direction.

After that first confrontation, all songs and encouraging chants were lost under the weight of reality and the soldiers following the Inquisitor fell into the uncomfortable silence that resembled the unnerving calm before the storm, looming over them with a frightening clarity now that the men had stood face to face with the horrors behind Corypheus' forces.

She lost track of time while they rode, every fiber of her being urging her to bury her heels in her horse's side and race forward until she found each of her friends. The minutes seemed to drag on to hours, and the slow passage of time preyed on her nerves until her own mount began to complain at the tension of her body in the saddle.

It was inevitable, and contagious. Everyone around her kept the same deadly silence as if they were fearful of awakening the corpses dressed in the Inquisition uniform scattered on their path, their presence an ominous message of what lied ahead.

When the sounds of fighting reached them again, Evey wasn't sure if she should feel relieved or distraught by the metal clash of swords and tangy smell of magic. On the one hand, the signs of battle were encouraging, proof of the Inquisition's resistance rekindling the hope of victory and making the men around her speed up their trot, eager to take the turns in the road that were currently blocking the battle from their sight. On the other hand, the excessive roars of Red Templars and shrieks of demons over the voices of her own men spoke of an uneven fight, one that depended on each second that separated them from that seemingly unreachable entrance of the valley if they wanted to keep the illusion of victory alive.

The first of her companions that Evey saw as their visual opened was Vivienne, standing over slightly elevated terrain with a group of mages, as regal and confident as she had looked just a few hours before, when Evey had entered her room.

Their talk was brief, almost clinical. Despite Vivienne's affectionate way of addressing her, Evey knew that what she and the Enchanter shared was more akin to professional respect and the natural companionship one unerringly developed when facing the same adversities. After all, she was hardly the only one Vivienne called "my dear". Still, when she spoke to the Inquisitor, there was an underlying tenderness that, in spite of their differences, seemed to reflect the pride the Enchanter felt for a woman who had risen time and again to the occasions laid before her. In that last brief talk, Vivienne had made sure to make her opinion clear, passing what seemed to be true affection as just more casual, unimportant commentary about her everlasting distrust for Morrigan.

But it wasn't until Evey announced her decision to leave Madame de Fer behind in the final confrontation with Corypheus that her true, callous Orlesian training appeared once more.

-Naturally, my dear. There are others with more personal reasons than my own whom would certainly be eager to join you, and you should give them that opportunity,- she said. -This is, after all, _your_ show, and my part is merely a secondary one.- Then she turned toward her, raised her head high in the same way she had done when instructing Evey on how to look back at the nobles in the Winter Palace, and allowed the corner of her mouth to lift just a touch. -Make us proud.

Now, moving gracefully in place as she rained fire down on Corypheus' army, Madame de Fer looked as regal and majestic as ever, her attacks distilling the elegance and refinement that would ever accompany Vivienne's every move. And in a weird, and completely untimely way, Evey couldn't bring herself to imagine the Inquisition without the Enchanter.

Just a few feet away from her, her exact opposite stood showering the enemy with her arrows as she yelled obscenities that would have made the crudest sailors in the Free Marches blush like Chantry sisters. Evey's heart constricted at the memory of Sera's wistful expression as she had asked for her opinion on her homemade cookies just a few days ago, a gesture so sweet and endearing that had hilariously contrasted with the several minutes of colorful expletives she had inflicted upon Evey a few hours ago, when she heard she would be staying on the rearguard.

A short advance of Evey and the others revealed Varric, standing on the outer circle of soldiers near the entrance of the valley, Hawke at his side and Bianca in his hands, piercing the air with a myriad of bolts that seemed to fire by the dozen, considering how freely the storyteller let them fly. The sound of each shot brought their last words to Evey's mind.

-You think Bianca will be ready to sing for us?- she had asked in a sarcastically cheerful manner that she had borrowed from him, a tone he regularly adopted whenever life was particularly… interesting in the moment.

-Oh, she has a whole stanza saved just for batshit crazy templars. I'll save you a seat.

And for once, no one could have accused the dwarf of exaggerating for dramatic effect. His marksmanship was a remarkable sight, one that was almost a shame to turn her back on in the eve of danger.

But not even that could ever compare to his sharp humor.

-In case you're keeping score, Hawke, I'm winning!

Before Hawke could answer though, Iron Bull's booming voice reached them as Evey, Cassandra, Cullen, and Blackwall joined the battle.

-Keep telling yourself that!- was the only thing he said, swinging his battle axe and opening a gruesome and bloody trail for them.

-Show off,- accused Varric just before the giant qunari turned with a smile as big as those he usually reserved for dragon fights.

In that moment, as Red Templar after Red Templar fell under his advance, Evey remembered fondly the confidence that the leader of the Chargers had imbued as news of Morrigan's findings on how to defeat Corypheus reached him.

 _That's easy! We're good at killing shit._

At her side, Cassandra bashed her shield against a Red Templar Shadow with such force that red lyrium shards flew in the air. One of the creature's bladed arms chipped from the Seeker's clash, right before Solas' Pull of the Abyss took it from her and right into one of Bianca's bolts.

As more Red Templars replaced their fallen cohorts, Iron Bull was lost in the crowd, running toward the east side of the valley and leaving a trail of crystallized bodies behind him.

A few feet ahead, Blackwall charged against a Red Templar Knight, sending it staggering backwards where a black cloud of smoke appeared out of nowhere, silver blades shining through the fog as Cole dispatched the man, burying his daggers in the back of his throat.

There was a shriek behind her as another enemy fell, and then Cullen was again at her side, rushing toward a Red Templar Guard as she leapt to the shadows to flank the man and stab him in the kidneys, right below the junction of the chest plate, just as Cullen had taught her.

It didn't take long before the sickening green light of a rift opened in the middle of the battlefield, the nightmarish figures of Rage, Terror, and Fear slipping through the tear in the veil, clearing the area around their connection to the Fade with unforgiving deadly strikes.

Without a second thought, Evey charged forward, the mark on her hand answering painfully to the magic of the rift, almost as if its inability to close it now angered it to the point where it decided to turn against its bearer.

What the magic of the anchor couldn't do, though, their blades quickly compensated, slicing through the sickening, pale skin of Terror, the crackled, dried hide of Fear, and the volcanic burning flesh of Rage.

Halfway through the battle, she spotted Iron Bull again, this time fighting side by side with Krem several feet ahead, pushing the enemy line toward where Dorian and a group of mages waited to finish them at the edge of the valley.

Unfortunately, Corypheus' army was exponentially larger than theirs in that moment, and reinforcements poured in constantly to join the demons in their advance, widening the distance between Bull and Dorian's group by the second. That also meant their own progress was constantly hindered by new enemies arriving to their position, making her despair at the idea of the mages being pushed away from the rest of the army and into a vulnerable position.

She would never know if her own feelings were the ones to summon them, but the second her heart began to ache at the prospect of Dorian being herded away from safe territory, the unmistakable shriek of despair demons reached her ears, their flying figures plaguing the space between the qunari and the Tevinter only a second later.

She had always hated the elusive bastards with their maddening strategy of jumping back and forth to avoid melee onslaughts, more times than not even dodging out of range of the blast whenever she disrupted a rift. She supposed that was the whole purpose of those particular demons, to drive their enemies to desperation, feeding off the emotion that strengthened them and securing victory by taking strength from their opponents.

Although she could be easily unnerved by the aloof demons, Dorian was another matter entirely. After all, her friend had become quite familiar with the very corruption the demons embodied, and that meant he was the last of them to be deterred by their cowardly scheme. And so it was that, while the mages around him began to retreat as the demons filled their hearts with desperation, Dorian's voice was heard over their incessant shrieks, guiding the men under his charge.

-Hold your ground! Let them burn!

The first demonic screech of pain was paired with the cutting air of both Cassandra and Blackwall charging ahead of her, while Cullen stood at her side, raising the Inquisition sword in the air and naturally falling into the position they had adopted from the very first moment they had fought together, instead of against each other in training.

With Solas' support from behind them and the rest of the inner circle keeping the enemies at bay, they were quickly gaining terrain toward Dorian, weakening the rift above them as more and more demons fell under their attack.

Emboldened by the sight of the Inquisitor, her companions, and their Commander overcoming the demonic Fade creatures, the soldiers fought with renewed vigor, defending their positions from endless waves of Red Templars and making sure the bulk of Corypheus' forces didn't reach the Inquisitor.

Soon, and despite the exhaustion weighing them down, voices of joy rose through the battlefield as the Red Templar army dwindled and the demons weakened. The optimism was such that even Evey began to think the battle was nearly over. Soon, they would have a chance to regroup and assess the damage before she continued her ascension toward Corypheus.

That illusion was short lived, though, for the moment the last despair demon fell, giving Dorian and the mages a clearing to join the rest of the army, the echoes of a demented laugh filled the battlefield.

Cullen instinctively stepped ahead of her, pushing her back in a desperate protective gesture as Solas joined them with a Fade Step, Cassandra and Blackwall surrounding her to close the circle around her.

Some of the soldiers around them began to fidget in place, panic rising in their faces as they recalled the same laugh taunting them while dozens of companions fell in the siege of Adamant Fortress.

Evey had heard that laugh countless times, and yet it still curdled her blood each time the rumbles in the booming voice shook the floor behind her with its vibration.

She should have known, after far too many months spent closing rifts all over Thedas. She should have predicted the soldiers' optimism would attract this presence to the battlefield. But it had been such a sweet hope to think this carnage could end before more men fell, before a friend should die, that she had allowed herself to be drawn into the pride that had filled her army.

From over Cullen's shoulder, her eyes found Dorian's knowing glace right before half a dozen Terror Demons tore up from the ground below his feet, the expansive wave separating her and the others from the rest of the army as the lightning strikes of Pride's electric whips lit the soldiers' panicked faces.

As if on cue, a wave of Red Templars attacked from the east, pushing Iron Bull even further from his lover and leaving Dorian and the mages completely caged between Pride's looming form and the cold stone wall behind them. Soon, under the Red Templar's unyielding advance, Bull's form was lost amidst the clash of swords and red lyrium blades.

With the first snap of the Pride Demon's whip on the ground, Evey leapt to her feet, desperation pushing her ahead before she had time to rethink her decision.

But the strong connection they had forged had trained Dorian how to predict Evey's movements and, seeing the determination shining in her eyes after she dodged the whip and searched for him, he jumped into action... and conjured a wall of fire in the space between her and the battlefield, when the Terror Demons had pushed her and the others through the air.

In the distance, he saw the exact moment that Evey realized what he had done, Cullen's arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her back when she seemed to consider the idea of jumping through the fire toward him.

Her expression broke his heart, the betrayal that flashed in her eyes making him feel like the lowest man alive. He turned away, hand gripping his staff tightly.

Dorian faced the Pride Demon, laughing with defiance in his eyes and trying to ignore the sound of Evey screaming his name in heartbreaking desperation as Cullen dragged her through the only road Dorian's spell had left open…

One that led them away from the fight and closer to Corypheus…


	70. Chapter 70

Chapter 70: Finality

The first time his heart gave into the underlying terror of the situation was when a large boulder came too close to crushing Evelyn.

After tearing her away from the fiery barrier that Dorian had used to isolate their entire army (along with most of the inner circle), they ran uphill to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, desperate to find Corypheus and end this madness. If the others were to have a chance, if there was going to be a possibility of them surviving this battle, they needed to stop the darkspawn magister luring endless waves of demons into their world.

As they grew closer, the scout team dotted the road toward their destination, their bodies twisted in unimaginable ways, eyes open as if watching a sky that became more alien with each second as the Breach opened and bathed the night in sickening green light. There had been no time for grieving, no second to spare to register their names or close their eyes. Not when the voice of Corypheus himself mocked the remaining soldiers' beliefs before attacking them with a magical blast that sent them flying back at the exact moment the Inquisitor's group entered the Temple.

The red explosion was closely followed by a flash of green from which two Terror demons jumped straight toward the soldiers. But by then, all their focus was on Corypheus, who could already see them from his vantage point both for the ascending terrain and for his own height. Without slowing their pace, Cullen's sword sliced one demon in half while Cassandra's buried itself in the gut of the second, stopping them from reaching the stumbling soldier that struggled to get on his feet.

-I knew you would come,- the magister said, bowing mockingly before them, dwarfing them with his impressive stature even while bent low.

Evelyn, though, was not one to be intimidated. Instead, to Cullen's dismay, she began to walk toward the magister until she was out of range of the few surviving soldiers who still tried to find safety in numbers.

She pointed at him with the tip of a long dagger.

-It ends here, Corypheus.

And that's when it happened. With an impassive " _And so it shall_ ", the ancient magister conjured his magic until bony hands flared with red lightning and the ground beneath their feet began to tremble.

Some of the wounded soldiers that had been pushed back in a last attempt to save their lives fell over the edge of the now floating Temple, while the rest of them stumbled to their feet, trying their best to remain on alert for the magister's next move.

Under the chaos, Cullen thought he heard Harding's voice calling from below while the entire Temple raised in the sky as if it were merely a feather stirred up by the wind. From over their heads, loosened masonry from the crumbling towers began to fall, landing hard and blocking Cullen's path to Evey. The bitter taste of dread filled his mouth as he stumbled to reach her, fearing she would be crushed before he could get to her.

All around them, different sections of the Temple and the mountain defied gravity, framing their surroundings in an otherworldly, bizarre representation reminiscent of Cole's frantic ramblings about the Black City after Adamant. And perhaps that had been Corypheus' intention, to confront them with the inevitability of their destiny, the fragility of their mortality, by transporting them to a place that would echo and reflect the remnants of the former Golden City, which had been tainted by the Magisters' egos. It was Corypheus' way of reminding them of his own words from so many months ago:

 _Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty._

But even if that were true, even if there was nothing beyond this life waiting for them, for Cullen there was something _here_ to fight for, _someone_ that had become more than the comforting figure of a God. Someone tangible, someone that felt solid and real as he clashed his chest against her back, pulling her toward him to anchor her on her feet as his shield protected her from the magister's magic.

Their ascension never ended, but the floor beneath their feet eventually stopped shaking, allowing them to stand on their own again. Cullen's shield hand relaxed just a fraction, but it was enough to allow Evey to slip past his defenses and out of the protective cocoon he had created for her.

And there, in front of them, completely unaffected by their nightmarish surroundings or the threat posted in front of him, Corypheus was waiting for her.

-You have been most successful in foiling my plans, but let us not forget what you are.- The magister's eyes didn't leave her for a second as he spoke, not even when all her companions joined the Inquisitor at her side. -A thief, in the wrong place at the wrong time. An interloper. A gnat. We shall prove here, once and for all, which of us is worthy of godhood.

-I came here to stop you, Corypheus. Nothing more.

Evey's voice rose up over the wind blowing frantically around him while they advanced to the heavens, the Breach closer by the second, open like a hungry mouth waiting to devour them all.

As her words echoed in the hollow halls of the Temple, there was an unnerving moment of calm, a silent battle of wills developing between the magister and the Inquisitor, where everything around them lost substance in the face of their personal confrontation.

Evey's left hand began to flare, as if the anchor was answering in kind to the magic already flowing from Corypheus' fingers in a desperate attempt to reach its enemy and destroy it, and for a split second, Cullen feared what this day would bring.

But then the floor shook again with a growl, and Corypheus' dragon crawled over the stone archway behind the magister. It lurked for a second, massive eyes fixed on the Inquisitor, as if trying to assess the best angle for an attack before it launched forward directly toward its prey.

 _-Evey!_

Cullen jumped ahead, trying to cover the woman he loved from the inevitable fate written in the dragon's open mouth, when another dragon clashed against the beast, pushing it over the edge of the floating island in a tangle of wings and teeth that only unraveled when they released one another to begin their own fight in the air.

As Cullen and Evey got up after he pushed her to the floor behind him, Coryheus' face morphed into a blend of pure hate and complete surprise, Morrigan's intervention throwing more salt on the open wound of his pride at seeing his plans foiled once again.

-You _dare!_

Evelyn didn't waste a second, and before the magister was able to raise his hand and summon his power, she threw one of her knives at him, sprinting forward as the blade flew directly to its target, Corypheus' words marking her pace.

-A Dragon. How clever of you. It will avail you nothing. You will fall as a warning to those who oppose my divine will!

Cullen, Blackwall, and Cassandra followed, Solas' stone fist opening its way between them to reach Corypheus while he was busy brushing off Evelyn's blade. Still, what would have made anyone else stagger hardly bothered the magister, even the impressive size of the stone fist dwarfed in comparison with the colossal darkspawn.

A massive shadow went over their heads as the dragons engaged in their own fight, only to find themselves bathed in red light when Corypheus' hand rose in the air, fingers splayed as if he wanted to claw the skies with his power.

-If you desire death, you shall have it!

A line of Red Lyrium stalagmites emerged from the ground, forcing Evelyn, who was running a good five steps ahead of them, to jump in place just to avoid being impaled by the crystals. Another spear of Red Lyrium almost surfaced right next to her left foot, making her stumble, arms drawing circles in the air as she tried to keep her balance. For a small, terrifying second, she bent dangerously close to the ground in a trajectory that would have impaled her head on the sharp edge of Red Lyrium. Instead, she placed both hands on either side of the crystal, pushing herself off the ground into an air flip, and landing beyond the threat even as Corypheus' laugh still resounded in their ears.

Without so much as a glance toward the crystals' growth that had been close to cutting her life gruesomely short, the Inquisitor raced toward the magister at a maddening pace, already drawing another knife from her belt and throwing it toward him.

Behind her, Cullen reached the Red Lyrium crystals sword first, the clash of metal against it igniting sparks that died against the leather of his boots as he less than gracefully avoided the deposits he had not being able to cut on his way.

His race didn't falter when Corypheus' hands lit up and the shrieks of demons sounded at his back. He knew the others would deal with them, and even when a part of him felt guilty for abandoning the rest of the group to their luck, he couldn't stop himself from putting one foot in front of the other until his sword buried itself in the flesh of his enemy even if he had wanted to.

He reached Evelyn's side just in time to protect her as Corypheus conjured a fan of Red Lyrium blades that grew from tiny specks of dust into sharp crystals in less than a heartbeat, their tips pointing directly toward Evey's face. Cullen sliced through the lyrium, sending shards flying against his shield as he raised it in front of Evelyn. He had intended to keep her protected and attack Corypheus while she remained safe between him and the thick metal, but the second the Red Lyrium broke at the impact of his bash, she was already sliding below the shield and under Corypheus, burying her twin daggers in the magister's thighs.

With her still holding onto the hilts and ignoring the dark gush of blood pouring out of him, Corypheus pushed himself in the air, floating between them as Cullen sliced at his ankles. But before they could do any significant damage, the magister's body bent forward and he flew away, throwing off Evelyn on his way toward one of the Temple's derelict towers. He stood in the air, levitating like a deity judging the inferior beings that had come before him begging for mercy.

A bone chilling shriek announced the death of the last demon, and as the others joined them, Cullen caught sight of the last enraged shade trying to claw its way back from death as it disappeared in a puddle of its own ichor. He kept running still, ignoring the creature's desperation as they all made their way toward Corypheus.

Just a few paces ahead, there was a blinding flash of red, followed closely by Evey's voice calling his name and Blackwall's dead weight tackling him. As they both landed behind a stone wall, Cullen opened his eyes in time to see the ground around them fill with Red Lyrium crystals as a sizzling beam scoured the terrain.

Even though his eyesight was still not completely recovered, Cullen looked frantically for Evey, until he found her alone crouching behind a fallen boulder, the curve of her spine dangerously visible from over the stone. Without thinking, without even considering the wisdom behind such an act, Cullen ran toward her, leaving the safety of the wall and facing Corypheus' beam with nothing but his shield to protect him.

As expected, the magister's eyes and magic turned toward him the moment he emerged from cover and a second later, Cullen's feet began to slide on the ground at the strength of Corypheus' attack pushing against his shield. But Cullen's advance didn't falter. Even as the Red Lyrium began to coat the metal, he didn't stop, not even when the crystals surrounded the edge of the shield and grew toward him, or when he began to taste the tangy metallic notes of lyrium in his mouth, the song filling his ears in a torturous cacophony that nearly maimed his strength.

When he finally reached Evey's side, almost all his shield was engulfed in Red Lyrium, the symbol of the Inquisition engraved in it completely buried in glowing crystals that cracked when Cullen brought the edge of his shield over the boulder, adding more height to Evelyn's cover.

-What is this? Love?- Corypheus said, a sharp tone denoting the disgust he felt for Cullen's display of selfless affection. -Pathetic!

The Red Lyrium beam had died as Cullen crouched next to Evelyn, but before they could decide whether to risk leaving the safety of their hideout or not, a flash of red heralded its comeback once more, only to die a second later when a massive veilfist closed around the magister's body, crushing him under the strength of Solas' magic.

For a couple of breathless seconds, their minds dared to believe it was over, until the sound of Solas' cry of pain encompassed that of cracking stone when Corypheus opened his way through the elf's magic and to freedom. But instead of facing them again, the magister disappeared behind a cloud of smoke not so different to those Cole himself used to blend with his surroundings, only to taunt them from afar before the remnants of Solas' magic were completely dispelled.

-You think you can beat me? I'm an avatar of divinity!

-Up the stairs!- yelled Cassandra before sprinting in that direction, climbing the steps two at a time in her eagerness to reach the magister.

Cullen's hands slid over Evey's body in a short but efficient search for wounds as he helped her get up, and he asked if she was unharmed. His fingers grazed every key spot that could denote a severe wound, but she didn't flinch. Still, that didn't mean he would leave her to her luck, so by the time she reached the first step, Cullen was standing at her side, his eyes looking for any hidden trap, senses sharp and honed to detect any threat that might put her in danger.

That is, until the voices began.

They had arrived at the second level of the floating Temple when it first happened. Corypheus was there, waiting for them at the other side of the courtyard, and when their eyes met, Cullen could have sworn the magister smiled triumphantly.

His head filled with the same maniacal laughter and sultry voice of the demons that had plagued him during those long days of confinement in Kinloch Hold while Corypheus' voice taunted the companions around him.

He tried to keep his pace certain, sword high and shield ready, but inside he felt as if the taint was taking over, making him falter in his courage and doubt his capabilities, the desperation and desolation rising to his mind and feeding upon his insecurities.

 _You think you can protect her? Look at you! You can't even protect yourself!_ Corypheus whispered in his mind right before a blast of magic pushed him to his knees.

In his mind's eye, he saw her falling, bloody andbroken, just as he had seen his companions in the Ferelden Circle fall to the torture of the demons. He heard the magisters' laugh join those of the demons of his past, and his legs shook as he tried to rise on unsteady feet.

Beyond where he stood, the others were approaching Corypheus, Evelyn disappearing in flashes of movement as she sliced the magister with deftly attacks.

He tried to gather strength from that sight, from her unwavering will and inexhaustible bravery, but the voices kept mocking him in his mind, threatening the impending death of what he held most dear in his life.

Out of habit, he closed his fist tightly in the vain hope that the gloves he wore wouldn't stop him from feeling the sharp pain of his nails, awakening his senses and giving him the strength to overcome the panic. It was a desperate technique, but one that had helped him before.

This time, though, it was different.

This time he had something else besides his sorry life to fight for.

This time, he had her.

A guttural growl emerged from his throat without him noticing, the sound pushing him forward as strongly as the certainty of what he had to lose did. Corypheus threw Red Lyrium shards toward him, but he pushed them out of his way with his shield, his feet never faltering in his advance, his hand itching with the desire to bury the sword to the hilt in the magister's body. But before he could even get to where the others were fighting, Corypheus flew once more, widening the distance between them as easily as he had done before.

Without a second to spare and before the others could lower their swords, Evelyn leapt through the shadows and toward Corypheus, leaving the others a good five steps behind her once again.

There was a blast in front of them and a thick black cloud engulfed Evelyn completely from their sight, forcing Cullen's legs beyond their limits as his heart jumped in utter panic.

When the Commander entered the black fog, a sharp talon clawed his arm, half a dozen demons surrounding him and Evelyn before the pain could even register.

The others joined as well, their faces and attacks more distinguishable with each second as the cloud dissipated. But it wasn't until the sky lit with Solas' firestorm further ahead that they were able to see the demented faces of the demons around them.

As they fought their way through the demons, the elf and the magister were engaged in a ferocious battle of power that was quickly depleting Solas' mana. But what the apostate lacked in resistance, he made it for in wit, and before Corypheus could overpower him, Solas' magic encircled the magister, weakening him.

As his enemy's strength began to falter, Solas' increased, his attacks growing stronger with Corypheus' own power as the twisting veil he conjured around him fed the elf's spells.

Up in the sky, the rift was partially covered by Morrigan, her dragon form casting an enormous shadow over them all, one that grew larger as she climbed toward the light source, only for her to turn and dive directly toward Corypheus' dragon. Perhaps some of the Inquisition's spirit had rubbed off on the witch, or maybe she had understood that a conservationist spirit had no value when the world as they knew it was at stake. Though it was entirely possible that she had just miscalculated her strategy, but being that as it may, her attacker managed to claw her belly and bite her legs with such fierceness that not three seconds after her assault, she was freefalling right toward their precarious battlegrounds.

 _-Watch out!_

Blackwall's warning raised above the general uproar of battle, and even though it was appreciated, it was also unnecessary, most of them already evacuating the space in the center of the courtyard for the dragons' unfortunate landing.

Not even if the Old Gods had planned that exact outcome would Corypheus been able to escape so readily, for Morrigan's fall forced the whole group to scatter so far away from their enemy in order to avoid being crushed by the witch's impressive draconian form, that Solas had no other choice but to release him of his ferocious hold, giving him the chance to once again disappear further into the Temple, hidden in a cloud of black smoke.

The moment the dust settled again, one of the dragons was gone, leaving Morrigan's human form laying on the floor and struggling to stay alive. The witch had never looked so helpless before. Without her personality to flare in that distinctively cutting style of hers, her body seemed as delicate as porcelain. For a moment, when she tried and failed to lift herself under her own power, falling again to the ground in a pool of her own blood, Cullen thought he would witness her break like a dandelion in a storm.

Evey was already running toward Morrigan with all the intention of forcing the witch to acknowledge her, to push a healing potion in her hand and urge her to take it. None of that was possible, though, for the moment the Inquisitor began her race toward her, Corypheus' seemingly deceased dragon began to move. It pushed itself up by the talons of its wings and briefly stumbled in place before facing them and shrieking in a mixture of agony and defiance that nearly pierced their eardrums, their spirits faltering under this new threat paired with the notion of giving Corypheus time to recover while they dealt with his pet.

Cullen had never fought a dragon before. Templars didn't need to fight dragons, since very few mages were shapeshifters, and even on the small chance that they were, none had the ability to shift into such a magnificent and terrible beast. No circle mage had access to such knowledge, and the Templars shared their same ignorance.

The sight of such a creature only made him respect Evey and her companions all the more. She had fought more than he cared to remember, the last one even possessed by the spirit of an Avaar god. For them, this was almost routine; he could tell in the way they immediately fell into a special formation, one that they hadn't used so far, already assessing the beast's weaknesses and strengths to both exploit and avoid. He almost felt out of place, as if he could be nothing more than a nuisance that would put them all at risk, the sensation so akin to the one he had felt on his first battle as a Templar that his stomach churned in complaint at the unwelcome reminder.

-The witch could be alive! We have to help her!- Blackwall's voice raised over the dragon's roar.

-There's a dragon trying to kill us!- Evey answered, her voice breaking when she threw a dagger at the beast's leg and seized the moment it raised on its haunches in pain to slide under it for another attack.

-All the better to revive our own!

Though he was yelling, Solas' voice was calm and controlled, the exact opposite of Cullen. Upon witnessing Evelyn's reckless stunt, his heart jumped to his throat and lodged itself there. It was beating so frantically that he became nauseated, but he was still so desperate to shield Evelyn from the dragon's furious attempts to reach her.

Cassandra and Blackwall surrounded the beast as well, looking for the perfect point to slice its legs to distract it from Cullen's advance. All the while, Evelyn moved with the grace of an assassin, stabbing the dragon and retreating before it could locate her. But even with all the agility in Thedas, their advantage could not last, and by the third time the Inquisitor's blades buried themselves in the beast's calves, the dragon jumped to the side, facing Evelyn with a mouth that began to flare with the distinctive, bone chilling color of Red Lyrium.

The movement put Corypheus' pet exactly where Cullen needed it, and while Blackwall raced to shield Evelyn from the beast's breath, the Commander planted his shield on the floor next to the dragon's hind leg and used it as leverage to push all his weight against his sword as he buried it in the beast's heel. He then used all his strength to yank his blade from the inside of the leg, tearing the tender flesh below the scales in the process until he managed to wrench his sword free, leaving behind an open gash that would have bathe him in blood had the creature not squirmed in pain.

He felt the sweat on his face cool below his helmet with the gust of wind caused by the sharp claws of the creature almost grazing his head as he stumbled backwards. Cullen arched his back to avoid the impact. He'd angered the dragon beyond what was describable, and with a deafening roar, the beast turned toward him, leaving a trail of blood behind it.

Still, he had achieved what he wanted, Corypheus' pet now focused on him instead of Evelyn, the Red Lyrium diminishing just for a moment before it blazed furiously toward him. But then, instead of releasing the deadly substance directly over him, the creature began to flap its wings frantically, producing a vortex of wind that dragged them toward it until no amount of willpower could stop their feet from slipping on the ground, their bodies caving to the inescapable pull.

And then, when they were all gathered around it, the beast began to take flight, its claws raking the ground as it moved to hover in front of them, mouth flaring again with what would, without a doubt, be their doom.

Certain events in life were defined by a single moment of chance, an accidental combination that tilted the balance completely and changed what had seemed ultimately inevitable. This was just such a moment. Fate, the Maker, chance, or the grace of the Elvhen creators, willed that one of the dragon's talons clawed the ground in the exact spot where Solas's ice mine was waiting for a fortuitous turn of events to trap the creature's leg within its unforgiving glaciers.

Corypheus' pet staggered in the air, the pull on its leg preventing it from taking off and forcing it back to the floor long enough for Cassandra to show off the Penthagasts' famous dragonhunter abilities.

-Blackwall, shield!

As soon as she said it, the Warden was planting his shield on the floor, not so different to how Cullen had done before, but instead of using it to acquire momentum, he knelt behind it with his shoulder against the back of the shield to keep it firm and at the perfect angle Cassandra needed. She ran toward him and stepped over the shield, using it to step higher into the air, her sword held with both hands, until she felt the leathery membrane of the dragon's wing give in under her blade.

Chance had played a major role so far, but Cullen was not one to leave the tide of a battle in the hands of fate, and he was not about to start now that Thedas depended on them. So, when the dragon turned toward Cassandra, roaring in agony but still trapped by Solas' spell, he charged forward and buried his sword behind the creature's jaw.

Unfortunately, as the dragon cried out once more, the scales around its mouth trapped his sword with a tight grip, leaving him no choice but to release it, lest the creature took him with it when it raised its head to the skies, as if it were crying to its master for abandoning it so thoroughly.

Finally, as Cullen inelegantly fell to the ground, a flash of movement at his side warned him of Evey's advance, and before he finished screaming her name in warning, she was already climbing the beast's leg until she reached the pommel of his sword. She used it to balance herself in the air and fell against the creature's neck, burying one of her daggers to the hilt in the tender flesh between scales.

In an instant, the ground below their feet shook, this time with the weight of the dragon's massive body falling lifeless to the floor with one last, bone chilling gurgle.

And then there was silence.

A disturbing quiet fooled no one with its calm, finally broken by a crackling sound before Cassandra could finish forcing a health potion down Morrigan's throat. A flash of red coming from Corypheus' dead pet followed, almost as if an intangible entity had escaped the so called archdemon's inert body, only its magic visible in the angry lines of pulsing Red Lyrium rays. It flew over their heads, leaving a metallic taste in the air that immediately made their throats itch, while the bolts of red lightning seared the floor and walls around it as it approached its destination.

From behind the dilapidated walls, Cullen saw Corypheus rise. The magic collected inside his body, infusing him with even more energy, feeding him with the tainted magic that threatened to be their undoing.

Corypheus staggered in place, as if not even he could withstand the power of the Red Lyrium crawling inside his body, one hand holding the orb high in the air. Solas stared at the artifact and froze, his rapt attention held on bated breath.

And still, the magister's voice didn't falter. Though the substance was probably searing his dried veins, flooding them with such life and corruption that not even he could remain impassive to its power, he did not waver.

-Let it end here. Let the skies boil. Let the world be rent asunder!

And inside Cullen's head.

 _Are you ready to suffer, mortal? Are you ready to learn the true meaning of fear? As many before you, you will fall, but not until you watch everything you hold dear burn._

In his mind, Cullen heard a scream, the voice he loved beyond everyone else's crying his name in agony, the suffering behind it giving Corypheus' threat an incapacitating strength that made his pulse falter. A sharp pain crushed his ribcage until he could have sworn his heart was bleeding down his chest.

The others' pace faltered too, the magister probably whispering inside their heads as well, playing their worst fears for them and bringing doubt to their hearts in a last attempt to make them vulnerable, to crack their forces and stand victorious at last.

But Cullen saw none of it. He just ran, hoping against all hopes that he would be able to outrun Evelyn, that his cumbersome heavy armor would somehow lose weight and his legs would carry him faster than hers would despite her lighter protection. That mere thought terrified him even further. She was not prepared for a frontal assault. Corypheus' disturbingly long, sharp nails could pierce through her armor and into her flesh as if it were nothing, impaling her in a second that would mean not only their defeat, but the end of Cullen's life and sanity.

In that moment, his legs complained with a stinging ache from the abuse of demanding they run with that much weight to bear. Cullen didn't care that she honed the best armor Harritt had ever designed. He didn't mind that he himself had begged her to use their short supply of Volcanic Aurum for her armor, if only to allow him to breathe a little easier knowing she was protected by the strongest metal known to man. He didn't even consider slowing his pace just because the leather that complimented the metal components was not mere skin from any animal, but High Dragon's hide which Morrigan herself had delivered as a way of thanking the Inquisitor for her help with finding Kieran. As he ran, his heart filled with dread at the idea of losing her now that Corypheus was glowing with the Red Lyrium coursing through his body, he didn't even remember that Dagna had worked for weeks to make sure all the Inquisitor's equipment was enchanted with the best runes she had ever produced.

For all he cared, she could be running toward the magister in nothing but the night breeze. She looked that vulnerable to him.

When they reached the upper courtyard, Corypheus was there waiting for them, the orb in his hand outstretched toward the skies as if he were waiting to release all its power over their heads the moment they entered his last bastion.

Concentrating on the magister, Cullen almost failed to notice the considerable fall that separated them from the actual courtyard, where the stairs that originally led to a higher level had broken and left Corypheus standing behind yet another barrier to his favor.

Up until that point, there was nothing to do but to take the leap. And as he did, Cullen suspected he was not the only one with complaining knees when he landed on the floor under the added weight of his armor.

When the magister saw they were relatively unscathed and able to even overcome that obstacle, he let some of his frustration out in a furious cry.

-I will not allow it!

But Evey was not paying attention to him, instead focusing on the looming threat of the growing tear in the sky, inviting the entirely of the spirits toward a world not ready to meet them.

-The breach is getting bigger!

-It will endanger the world! We must stop it!

In other circumstances, Cassandra's weary tone would have given Cullen pause. After all, the Seeker was known for her admirable endurance, unrelenting stamina, and unwavering faith. And yet, despite the small victories that had accompanied them so far, she sounded almost defeated to Cullen's ears.

But even as her voice registered in his mind, his heart was focused beyond her. Before he had time to get on his feet again, and without a doubt aided by the fact that her own gear was significantly lighter than his, Evelyn had already rushed to the center of the courtyard, where a menacing Corypheus waited for her.

She climbed the steps of the stairwell two at a time, one of her small knives in her hand, ready to throw it at the magister the moment the opportunity presented itself. But when that happened, almost as her gloved fingers released the blade directly toward Corypheus, the magister disappeared, half a dozen fine Red Lyrium lines trailing behind him as he came to stand exactly in front of the pillar Evelyn was reaching at that precise moment.

Cullen's heart rose to his throat, the stone tiles below the Inquisitor's feet blown away by the sudden growth of Red Lyrium crystals. The figure of the woman he loved was engulfed by a smokescreen that, for the terrifying span of a couple of seconds, convinced him that upon its disappearance would be revealed her impaled form gasping her last breaths.

Corypheus' voice mocked his fear in his head, feeding it with a perverse laugh and measured words that in that moment sounded like the ghastliest promise.

 _And so your end begins._

Without being able to fully repress a heart wrenching scream, Cullen climbed the last steps in three strides, only to see Evelyn emerge from the smoke and run again toward the eastern side of the courtyard, where Corypheus has slid and was already battling Blackwall.

Releasing the orb to hover above their heads, Corypheus faced them as everyone but Solas rushed him near the eastern pillar. They managed to exchange cuts and slashes that seemed to barely break the magister's concentration before the coward ran away again, this time to the southern area of the yard, where he lifted the arms at his sides and released two Red Lyrium rays that closed on them as the magister joined his hands in front of him.

In his desperation, Cullen didn't even think if he was harming Evelyn as he grabbed the neck of her coat and tried to push her down the stairs with all the intention of lying over her to avoid Corypheus' deadly rays. But even as his hand closed around the fabric, Evelyn raised her marked hand to the skies and called upon the Aegis of the Rift, the green dome covering all of them in the exact moment that Corypheus' attack closed over the group.

From a distance, the magister screamed in frustration and flew again toward them as the anchor's magic began to fade, only to smash directly into a stalagmite, Solas' magic piercing his ancient hide and letting the blood tint the ice red.

Nevertheless, the wound that would have maimed any other enemy did little to stop Corypheus. The magister simply grabbed the ice spear with his hands and pulled back until his body slid away from it, leaving a bloody trail behind him as he turned to face them once more.

By then, they were ready and charged straight toward him, the entire group attacking at the peak of their skills in a desperate attempt to wound their enemy enough to stop him once and for all.

As the minutes blended together, their combined strength began to fade, their movements became slower, muscles burning with the effort of each attack, stances widening just to keep them standing. Cassandra's shield dropped to the floor while Cullen discarded his as well, both warriors knowing its weight would only slow them down further at that point. Blackwall's broadsword rested on the floor more times than not now, and even Solas' spells were losing effectiveness as his mana depleted and his lyrium supply came to an end with one last shattered bottle at his feet.

Fortunately for them, Corypheus' dreams of godhood started and ended at that: ambitions from a corrupted mind that believed itself invincible, but was instead as fallible and potentially mortal as all of them. Just like Blackwall's broadsword, Corypheus' knees found themselves touching the ground more times than the creature's pride was willing to accept. The magister's blood awaited for the rest of him to fall and make the crimson pool at his feet his final resting place.

Before that could happen, though, Corypheus found the last of his strength and aimed at the Inquisitor's weakest point.

In the chaos of battle, Cullen had become separated from the group and ended up standing at the exact opposite side of the others, unknowingly giving Corypheus the opportunity he had so heartlessly awaited.

With one last retreat, the magister looked directly toward Evelyn, his eyes piercing a hole to her very soul as his voice spoke inside her mind, wrenching a desperate cry from her and making her turn to look at Cullen in agony before both of them, the magister and the Inquisitor, launched themselves directly toward the Commander of the Inquisition forces.

The distance between Evelyn and Cullen was almost nonexistent in comparison to the 70 feet standing between him and Corypheus, but her movements were weighted down by hours of unending battle. Her mind slugged past the excruciating demands of their confrontation and the anchor combined to even feed the hopes that she would be able to reach him before the magister made good on his word.

She still tried. Despite knowing it was a lost cause, she tried. She would have tried even if it would have cost her her own life. _Especially_ if it had cost her her life, because that would have meant she had somehow managed to save his.

But the same reality that had been ruthless toward them from the start, pushing them to their limits and beyond each step of the way, demanded even more from her in that moment when she saw Corypheus sweep Cullen off his feet with a simple wave of his hand, nonchalantly throwing him in the air to crash against the farthest pillar and to the ground, where he landed seemingly lifeless.

And in the midst of it all, Cullen's consciousness wandered beyond his body, stubbornly allowing him to still feel the awful stab of cracked ribs when the blow against the pillar bent his chest plate in, the piercing pain in his chest that began to make breathing an impossible endeavor, and his head bounced against the stone floor after his helm was lost at Corypheus' strike. Still, enough awareness remained to flood him with an eerie acceptance that somehow found a way through the pain.

He heard Evelyn's scream. He distinguished the others urging her to attack. Solas ran toward his crumpled form to help. He could feel the indecision in her mind, the hesitation as she wrestled with the dilemma of helping the man she loved or facing the enemy that threatened the world.

He wanted to tell her it was alright. He wanted to plead that he didn't matter, that he was ready, that he had known this would be his fate from the very beginning, and yet had chosen to come if only to shield her until that moment arrived. Against all the ingrained instincts of a soldier and a human being, he had decided his place was at her side, despite the risk that would entail.

He had chosen to be there, forgoing his army, sacrificing the many to save the few... the only.

 _To be a good soldier, you must love the army. To be a good commander, you must be willing to order the death of the thing you love._

Gregoir's words had been his guide for years. He had loved his army, had supported his men through thick and thin. He had stood _against_ his commanding officer just to protect them when madness had taken Meredith to limits unthinkable before. But the very mantra that had driven him from years had changed its meaning in the short months where that love had shifted from his duty to something far more important, to someone he loved so deeply that he would selfishly see the world end before willingly delivering her unto death.

It had been wrong. It had gone against all the Templar's teachings, against the Chantry's morals, against his own conscience that told him he had lost the objectivity that his position required.

And yet in that moment, as the world trembled and Evelyn closed the Breach, launching the strange orb to the heavens and the Temple around them began to crumble in front of their eyes…

As Evelyn's hand rose toward the magister that had plagued their world for over a year, passing sentence aloud while the anchor flared angrily…

As Corypheus' face began to contort gruesomely and his body spasmed until he was swallowed by the Fade itself…

Cullen couldn't bring himself to care about the condemnation that might lay behind his selfish actions.

Not when the last thing he saw was the woman he loved safe and sound, running toward him… before his eyes closed and his body gave out.

oOo

 _My love,_

 _I write this praying that it never reaches your eyes, hoping that I'll be there to burn it, shaking my head at how stupid it was to even compose it, or to soothe your anger at the words I wrote just in case with thousands of kisses that time is not allowing me to give you. But even as my heart wishes for that, my mind forces my hand to write the words I'm unable to say unless it's in the softest of whispers while you're sleeping in my arms._

 _If you are reading this, then I'm no longer with you. If this letter was delivered to you, then I kept the promise I made myself to guard your life with my own. If I'm not with you, if I can't make it back and I'm unable to whisper my deepest hopes in your ear as I make love to you, know that I've walked to the Maker's side with a smile on my face, for He has allowed me to know your love._

 _These months with you will always be the most perfect I've ever lived. They weren't enough, but it never truly would have been enough. I would never have tired of listening to your soft, calm breath while you sleep at my side, of hearing you laugh and watching you smile while you look at me with so much love in your eyes that my heart rebels against me and lurches in my chest. I would never have had enough of your touch, of your taste on my lips, of your skin on my skin, of the sound of your voice when you say my name. No amount of mornings would have been enough. Not even a thousand years together would have made me want to part from you, and if I am to carry any regret to my grave, it's that I was not able to give you everything I wished._

 _I want to tell you how my whole world changed simply because you became part of it. How you climbed all my defenses and settled deep in my heart, even before you started to visit me every day in Haven. How much knowing you would come back kept me awake at night, the mere thought of you peppering me with your inquiries and your interest in my life filling my mind with hopes I was too afraid to entertain._

 _I never thought I was capable of loving someone the way I loved you, Evey. The way I will still love you, even after I'm gone. You've been my entire world from the moment I laid eyes on you. You showed me what it felt to be alive. You taught me to dream again, chased away my nightmares and traded them for the sweet reality of having you in my life. You healed me, body and soul, until I allowed myself to believe I was worthy of happiness, that I was worthy of being loved. And I was intent on making your happiness my life's goal._

 _I'm sorry I failed you. I'm sorry for the times I hurt you. Find that happiness again. Don't live with the shadow of my death. For you were my life, Evelyn, and you'll always be._

 _I thank the Maker for you._

 _Your Cullen._

Cullen stood before the fireplace of Skyhold's Tower Room, holding the letter he had entrusted Leliana to deliver in the event of his death.

The same words that now laid in his hands were the last ones he had recited quietly as he closed his eyes in the Temple of Sacred Ashes, feeling the wind pick up around him as the dilapidated building began its sudden descent once Corypheus' magic was gone to support it.

It had taken days for him to know that, with the aid of several mages whom had arrived after they defeated their own enemies down the mountain and joined their magic to that of Solas, they were able to land on solid ground relatively unscathed. It would have taken even longer, were the matter to be left to him, to begin to care about that detail once he opened his eyes on the cot at the infirmary camp and saw Evelyn bent over at his side, her hand holding his as she prayed to the Maker and His Bride.

-You have walked beside me, Down the paths where a thousand arrows sought my flesh. You have stood with me when all others Have forsaken me…

She sobbed, her hand twitching in his, and Cullen's voice died in his throat, constricted by the intensity of her pain. She sighed, her face still buried in the covers, the crown of her head brushing his thigh and making him feel each ragged intake of breath as she fought the tears.

-I have faced armies With You as my shield, And though I bear scars beyond counting, nothing Can break me except… Your absence.

She tightened her hold over his fingers as the last sentence left her lips, her voice failing when she said the final words of the verse, as if the absence that would break her had nothing to do with the Maker or Andraste at all…

The simple idea was blasphemous, to believe her mind was picturing him and not their god as she whispered those sacred words to the night. And yet the way her back shook with the telltale rhythm of tears and held his hand as if her life depended on it made him believe he was right, that her words were both a prayer for the Maker and a direct reference to how much she needed him.

Cullen opened his mouth, his voice fighting to come out through the lump of emotion lodged in his throat, but before he could whisper her name, she said one last thing.

-Cullen.

Never had his name sounded so broken on her lips. Never had he heard such pain in her voice.

 _Nothing can break me except your absence._

He knew then he had been right. As those last words crossed her lips, the image in her mind had not been that of the Maker, to whom that verse was dedicated, but that of the man who felt exactly as she did, the one whose only real weakness was the same that now held her heart inside a closed fist of desperation: losing the one they loved.

-Evey…

He had said with a thread of voice, the breath that accompanied her name barely enough to disturb the air around him and yet somehow reaching past the voice in her head telling her that Corypheus' taunt in the battlefield had been right, that she was condemned to watch Cullen's life slip through her fingers as she could do nothing but witness his inevitable demise. Somehow, as if his voice were stronger than her fears, stronger than the moans of pain of the wounded around them and the hurried steps of the healers and soldiers attending them, the sound of her name reached her ears just at the same moment as Cullen's hand closed around hers.

She lifted her head so quickly that the world around her slightly spun, reminding her that she had not left the battlefield unscathed, either. The warning was useless though, as she ignored it completely when her eyes found his sparking with life and looking at her.

It had been near torture to leave him to Dorian's care when Solas had requested her assistance to search for the orb in the abandoned battlefield. But she had been unable to refuse after the elf had nearly exhausted himself healing Cullen. She had counted the seconds until she had been able to come back to his side. So much so, that she hadn't realized her friend was gone until Cassandra had informed her Solas was nowhere to be found and Cole's cryptic whispers had confirmed it.

It would shame her how little that news had affected her in the long hours until Cullen had shown any signs of recovery. She knew it would hurt later. Evelyn was aware that Solas' inexplicable abandonment would sting in the days to come. But in that moment, with the life of the most important person in her life hanging in the balance, she had not been able to spare more than a second acknowledging it before she returned all her attention to the unconscious Commander.

And now, those eyes she had missed so greatly were looking at her from beyond the remnants of grime she had not fully cleaned for fear that it would somehow affect his recovery.

She had wanted to jump over him, to hug him tightly until her mind and body were fully convinced that he was alright, that he was really out of danger and that this blessed sight was not just her exhausted mind playing tricks on her after she inadvertently slipped to the Fade while she watched over him.

But just in case this was not a cruel figment of her imagination that was feeding her heart with hopes only to throw her back to the waking world and to the reality of him agonizing, she had restrained herself. After all, no matter how much love she could have put behind the gesture, hugging a person with two broken ribs, internal bleeding and a punctured lung recently healed was hardly the best idea. So, with her heart screaming in her chest and all her willpower fighting the urge to hold him, she had instead reached for him until both her hands were cradling one of his close to her lips, opening the small refuge she had created until she was able to kiss his fingers reverently, tasting her own tears as she cried.

She had repeated his name a thousand times before she had been able to say anything else, before his attempts to sit up on the cot took her out of her trance.

-Don't move, you'll hurt yourself!- she had said urgently, fear returning to her voice all too soon.

But he had ignored her, instead using his free hand to hold his weight as he shifted until he was fully upright and able to use that same hand to press her against him. Cullen ignored the stab of pain from his ribs as he pulled her closer, burying his nose in her loose hair, inhaling that scent that was only hers and that brought tears to his eyes at the knowledge that they were both safe and together again.

He had only pulled back enough to look at her, to finally see for himself that her pain started and ended in her concern for his safety. And as she looked back at him, he had wiped her tears with the pad of his thumb, cradling her face and pressing his forehead against hers, taking in the wonderful reality of her in his arms once more.

They had lost track of how long the kiss lasted before Dorian interrupted them, clearing his throat. Cullen had barely registered anything of the conversation they had with the mage beyond the fact that Cassandra had handled the duties of Commander in his stead, and that there was nothing else he could do (or that he would be allowed to do according to Evelyn) but retire to their tent and sleep until Vivienne's magic along with the healing potions already waiting for him there could further send him down the long road to recovery that laid ahead of him.

Even though Cullen did as he was told and the elfroot potion made breathing a bit easier, he only had eyes for the woman still holding his hand. As she helped him get rid of his breeches and boots, he had done nothing but look at her in awe of the miracle that was their victory. When she was forced to let go of his hand to take her own clothes off, he had marveled at the privilege of tracing each new mark on her skin, knowing that what was now pulling at his heart at the sight of her wounds would later be nothing but another scar for him to trace with fingers and lips, simply because they had lived to enjoy such moments together. And when they had finally lain together in their joined bedrolls, he once more gathered her close to him, kissing away her worries and fears of hurting him, for there was nothing that would ever hurt him so long as she stayed by his side.

Later, there would be grief. There would be tears and pain for the ones that had not lived to see another day. Parents would cry, children would wail, partners would weep for their absent loved ones. Families would be compensated, paperwork filed, names carved forever into memorials. Silence would be held in reverence and ballads composed in the memory of those that had given their lives to save Thedas. Grief would be put aside for celebrations, congratulations, and representatives would arrive from every corner of the map to rejoice in the Inquisition's victory. Evelyn's name would be acclaimed and her feat set in history records for the world to remember.

But right then, as Cullen closed his eyes, he allowed himself to think only of the now... And it was as sweet as Evelyn's voice as she whispered of just how completely she loved him.

Ten days later, in the lost hours of the night up in Skyhold's tower, as the celebrations continued in the main hall below, Cullen's hand hovered over the fire crackling in the hearth, his letter slipping through his fingers and feeding the flames, making him smile at the irony of what he had done.

 _I write this praying that it never reaches your eyes, hoping that I'll be here to burn it, shaking my head at how stupid it was to even compose it…_

The paper turned ash before his very eyes, the fire taking the last of his bittersweet words and leaving him with the task to deliver them personally… without the grim intentions with which he had written them.

-Thank you, Maker….- he said in a hoarse whisper, trying to suppress the tears that threatened to spill. A grateful wave of emotions swept over him as he saw the last remnants of the letter blacken to dust.

Behind him, the door of the small closet opened and closed, and the muffled sound of footsteps over the rich Nevarran rug became the quieted shuffle of bare feet closing the distance over the wooden floor toward him.

A moment later, a pair of arms surrounded his waist carefully, still wary of hurting him even after he had explained countless times that he barely felt anything at all, really. Soft lips caressed his left lobe, and warm breath reached him as Evelyn tiptoed behind him to whisper softly in his ear.

-Come to bed, love.

There was a time when hearing those words come from her was both an unattainable fantasy and the deepest, most fervent of his desires.

With the knowledge of that wonderful dream turned into a reality, he allowed her to guide him to their bed, where he slowly made love to the woman that had filled his every waking thought from the moment he had first laid eyes on her.

Later still, when the first rays of morning heralded a day without the threat that had loomed over them for more than a year, and the rising sun began to paint the sky in red, Cullen tightened his hold around Evelyn's waist, closing his eyes as the weight of the night delivered him into the Fade, his heart content at the renewed prospect of a life filled with endless possibilities…

…Knowing she would ever be by his side…

 **oOo**

 **Author's note: Well..., I guess that's it. That was the last chapter of the main story. I plan on writing epilogues (yes, plural) but I wanted to do it once I was settled in my new home. Alas, bureaucracy delayed my scholarship payment and I'm still waiting to move from my parents' house. But don't worry, there WILL be epilogues. I just can't tell you exactly when.**

 **I would love to know your opinion on the ending, and on the story as a whole (I have an idea for an alternative ending as well, and with any luck I'll be able to publish it eventually) and I'll appreciate any idea or thought you have, whether privately or through reviews. I must confess I've been feeling insecure about the last chapters and everything you want to say would be most welcome.**

 **Keep following me and the story to find out when I publish the epilogues! But if you don't, then thank you for staying with us for as long as you did. I hope you found it entertaining.**

 **As always, a special thanks to Melicious Intent for helping with the story and tolerating me for over a year xD I love you, my friend.**


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